


Twelve Months

by Itrustyoutokillme



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Baby Fic, F/M, Family Drama, Fluffy, post escape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 10:06:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11484126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itrustyoutokillme/pseuds/Itrustyoutokillme
Summary: Following a year in the life of Michael & Sara as they discover they are having a baby. Set between September and September, it includes all the festivities of Halloween, Christmas and their birthdays.





	1. September

Sara felt sick. Her mouth fell open with shock and her shaking hand clamped over it to muffle her cry. Tears welled in her eyes but she didn’t know why. Her entire body rushed with mixed emotions, some good, and some bad. How would she tell Michael? They certainly hadn’t planned for this. Sara gulped an unwelcome lump down her throat and felt dizzy, her hand darting to the white porcelain sink beside her for support.

Sara held the plastic stick in her hand, an unmistakeable blue cross to one side of the window. She picked up the thin paper instructions and scanned them once more. She even read them aloud to make sure she had done it correctly. The instructions rustled in her hands as she twisted them back and fourth, flipping the page over to read the other side.

“In some circumstances, false positives can occur,” she read aloud with a hint of hope in her breaking voice. She sighed but it was not relief. There could still be a chance she was pregnant. She was a doctor and the plain truth was the chances of a false positive were slim. They happened but not very often and under the circumstances, Sara figured hers was neither false nor intended.

Her hands sunk to her lap and she rubbed her legs nervously, tapping her fingertips against the black material of her pants. The bathroom of their apartment was heated and the bright lighting bounced off the white tiles and chrome taps like rays of sunlight, but she still felt cold. Sara’s entire body tingled with adrenaline, a sudden rush of it surging from her brain as she contemplated the future.

The cooking timer in the kitchen buzzed to life and its tiny hammer hit the bell inside furiously alerting her to the meal she had cooking of the hob. Sara stuffed the pregnancy test back into its box and tossed it into the waste bin quickly followed by several sheets of toilet paper to hide it. She pulled the bathroom door, which opened silently, floating across a tiled floor it never touched.

Sara rushed to the kitchen where her pasta was boiling over the ceramic top leaving crusty white froth to bake itself onto the surface. Grabbing a towel she wrenched it from the top and slammed the heavy pot onto the side where it immediately turned silent and proceeded to steam from the tiny hole in the glass lid. Sara opened it, a rush of steam invading the air and condensing almost immediately into tiny hot droplets. Sara peered into the silver pan and we met with a burning smell. On further inspection with a fork she discovered the water had all but completely boiled away and the pasta had sealed itself to the base of the saucepan.

“Dammit!” Sara exclaimed angrily, throwing the towel onto the counter with a wet thud. She leant back against the counter and buried her face in her hands trying to calm herself. Today was too much to cope with all at once and just when she thought the day couldn’t get any worse, she heard Michael’s key turn in the lock. Her head snapped up and she dropped her arms to cross in front of her chest.

Michael stepped into the apartment he had previously occupied by himself before his and Lincoln’s exoneration meant he could be with Sara. It was still very much his apartment, bare and minimal in places where it lacked a woman’s homely touch. The floor was laminate wood but it was a dark stain and slightly spongy underfoot. Most of the furniture matched the flooring and the walls were a mixture of chocolate brown and cream, painted in correspondence to how the light hit them from the massive balcony window.

Michael let the door close behind him and yanked his jacket off his shoulders. His long blue sleeves had been unevenly rolled up to his elbows and his marbled skin was clearly visible. He flashed Sara a smile that was never forced, no matter how tired he was. She returned it weakly as he stepped from the wooden floor to the tiled one, hung his jacket across the back of one the dining chairs and reached her for a kiss.

“Hey,” he greeted her happily placing a warm hand to her arm and planting a soft kiss to her mouth. Sara kissed him back but her arms remained crossed and Michael looked at her with a questioning face. His brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed slightly until he noticed the charred remains of pasta next to her on the counter. “Oh…” he said with a roll of his eyes suddenly understanding her frustrated glare.

“We’ll have to order in,” she said with a sigh, a thousand thoughts of the money saving they would have to do crossing her mind.

“That’s ok,” Michael stepped closer to her so their bodies were millimetres apart and rested his hands on either side of her against the mottled grey counter top. Sara snorted sarcastically to the side and unfolded her arms to lightly scratch the back of her neck. Michael dipped his head slightly to catch her gaze that she had so far tried to hide from him. He rested a loving hand to her hip and searched her eyes for her reasoning.

“It’s not ok,” she said pushing out of his embrace and storming to the other side of the kitchen. Michael stepped aside and was taken back by her sudden anger. Sara slammed her fists into the opposite counter and fought back the burning tears as they threatened to fall. Michael stared at her back, her shoulders hunched and her frame leant over the sideboard before returning to glance at the cooling pasta.

“It’s just pasta Sara,” he offered gesturing to the pasta on the sideboard.

“It’s not just the pasta,” Sara snapped whirling around to face him, her hand cutting the air with every word. “It’s…” she paused, her hand clenching into a fist when she changed her mind and decided against the words she was going to say. Michael leant his back to the cold counter top and stared at her open mouthed. Her sudden outburst shook him and it was very uncharacteristic of her.

“Are you ok?” he enquired softly while she pushed a shaking hand across her brow and paced in front of him. Her feet barely lifted from the floor and she shuffled her slippers across the tiles, a rough brushing sound filling the air on ever step. She faltered on an answer as thoughts ravaged her mind. “Sara?” Michael asked, his voice quaky and frightened.

“No,” she snapped without looking at him and pushing her hair from her hands with both her hands. “I’m not ok,” she said quieter.

“Well tell me what’s wrong,” he began taking a step towards her. He knew if he reached out and just took her in his arms that she would close up and keep the darkness that hurt her so inside. Michael wanted to know what was wrong so he could fix it. So they could fix it. “We can work it…” he offered but she cut him off with two words that both elated his soul and scared him to death at the same time.

“I’m pregnant,” she blurted with closed eyes and a silence fell between them. Michael’s face twisted in confusion and for a moment he held his breath in shock. He lifted a hand to his collar where he tugged at the tie, leaving it hanging loosely around his neck while he popped his top button open. Although it wasn’t, he imagined his collar was choking him and his actions would help his sudden breathing difficulties.

“How? I mean, I know how,” he stammered with a frown to himself at the idiocy of the question. Of course he knew how. Sara and Michael had successfully dodged many bullets whilst in the throws of passionate sex that included the absence of their latex friends. Neither was sated with just foreplay when their supplies had dwindled and carelessly, they had ignored all the odds. Michael blinked in disbelief and run a wobbly hand over his shaven scalp.

“I just found out today,” Sara told him, her voice softer but full of fear. “I’ve missed two periods,” she confessed. Michael was listening but he wasn’t at the same time and his face was buried in his hands. His mind raced so quickly he couldn’t catch up to reality. A baby was a big step in a relationship, a step that neither of them had planned for.

“Why did you wait so long?” he asked, his voice muffled by his hands spread across his features. He pulled them down and sucked in a large breath of air. His question was genuine and Sara saw no anger, hurt or remorse in his eyes. Maybe, just maybe, he actually wanted this baby.

“I was scared,” she said on a breaking voice that was the dam holding back her tears. Her throat burned as they trickled down her cheeks and a feeling of relief washed over her. “I was scared that if I was you’d leave me,” she choked whilst desperately trying to dry her face when more tears fell freely.

Michael looked at her shocked. She had never revealed any such fears to him before and for a second he felt shut out and angry. He took two quick steps towards her and pulled her to him, locking his almighty arms around her trembling figure as she cried. He soothed her with his gentle voice and a strong hand down her back. She wasn’t ready for this and he could see that. “I’d never leave you,” he whispered into her ear with a stern tone. “Ever,” he added desperately, squeezing her to him even tighter before she pulled away.

Michael brushed a soft thumb over her damp cheeks and wiped away her tears with a smile. Sara let out a nervous laugh at her behaviour. Of course Michael would never leave her over something as trivial as a new life. He was Michael, sacrificing everything he had ever held dear to keep the ones he loved happy and safe from harm. “I’m still scared,” she coughed on a laugh as she pulled her sleeve down her arm and wiped at her tears in her own way.

Michael pulled her to him again, her arms pressed firmly against his thin blue shirt that had already been drenched in her tears. “Me too,” he confessed on a breath. “But we’ll be ok,” he promised planting a kiss to her soft, auburn hair.


	2. October

  
“So, we have to pretend we have never met?” Sara asked confused by the request on the invitation to Lincoln’s Halloween party. She sat with her legs tucked under herself on the large cushioned chocolate brown corner group couch that sat in the middle of their lounge.

“It’s like a masquerade ball,” Michael told her, shaking his head sideways as he emerged from their bedroom in only a towel. His upper body was covered in clear, warm droplets of water and steam evaporated from his skin. Sara shot him a look over the back of the couch and Michael smiled back at her with a laugh. “Ok, so Lincoln is far from masquerade status,” he admitted leaning onto the back of the absorbent couch cushions and locking his fingers together.

Sara snorted a teasing laugh. “He’s a slob,” she said bluntly with a grin as he rested his face next to hers. “And balls are supposed to have finely matured alcoholic drinks, which I can’t drink by the way,” she said with a hint of sarcasm towards Michael.

“Hey,” he retorted with a raised eyebrow. “We both contributed to the making of this child,” he smiled moving his hand to rest lightly over her still flat stomach. At three months Sara was neither showing, nor feeling pregnant. She had no morning sickness or daytime nausea and functioned as well as she did before, if not better in her hectic day job as an ER doctor.

Sara’s eyes darted between the invitation in her hands and Michael’s manly fingers as they danced around each other beside her face. “I can’t believe I can’t drink,” she huffed with a pout when she saw the clipart cocktail glass with a blue hued beverage inside it in the top corner on the invitation card.

Michael leant in closer to her and his hot breath on her skin made the hair on her neck prickle with excitement. “Mind blowing contributions I might add,” he whispered passionately unable to hide the wide grin that spread across his features as he ignored her angry remark. Sara’s hand snaked up behind his head and pulled it to her. His skin was still wet from his shower and it stuck to hers like natural glue while he tenderly kissed at her jaw line. “And besides,” he panted through kisses, “Lincoln’s idea of “finely matured alcoholic drinks” are beers he has had in his fridge for over a week”.

Sara giggled in the back of her throat, turned her head and presses her lips to Michael’s. He smelt like shower gel, the fruity scent invading her nostrils as her smiled against her sweet kissable lips. Sara pulled away and her eyes met Michael’s blue green orbs, the corners creased up as he grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Lincoln keeps beer that long?” she joked and Michael left the back of the couch with a hearty laugh. Sara chuckled to herself as he padded down the warm wooden flooring and into their carpeted bedroom.

“We have to wear masks?” Sara shouted over her shoulder as she flipped over the pristinely white card in her hands and read the small print. Lincoln had really gone all out on this party, as he seemed to every year and had every year since his exoneration. Sara couldn’t help but think he was compensating, making the most of life in case he should ever be framed again.

“It will be fun,” Michael called back, his voice bouncing off the creamy coffee coloured walls of the hallway. Sara’s face twisted in her reluctance to believe him. She was a creature of habit and change didn’t suit her too well. For her, Halloween meant dressing up, apple bobbing and candy by the truckload. An old fashioned ball, accompanied with being the only sober person at the party made Sara feel a little apprehensive.

When they arrived at the party, it was already alive. Lincoln had traded the violin and string orchestra for a live band and there were no waiters. Drinks, as expected, were served in blue and red disposable plastic cups like a college party. Sara smiled to herself as she trudged through the party in her costume, her arm looped through Michael’s.

Her costume was heavy and the shiny material scuffed against itself as she walked through the first floor studio apartment. The dress was a deep ruby red with black lace decoration and the body piece fitted like a corset, constricting her breathing and creating an appetising cleavage with her swollen breasts. Her hair was wrapped into a tight bun on the back on her head with two lengths left free and curled into ringlets that cascaded over her shoulders. Her mask was not yet on and she held it tightly in her hands. It was a black cast of half a face that had red feathers peaking from its top like a cockerel crest.

Michael had hired his costume with Sara’s so that they matched. It was a modified black tuxedo with a white shirt that had two buttons open. Around the cuffs of his jacket was a thick rim of ruby red lace that intermingled some golden jewels, which sparkled in the lighting. The same lacy decorations pinstriped down each leg of his pants and he finished it off with some polished black shoes. His mask was similar to Sara’s but white and lacked the flamboyant feathering, covering only half of his face like the Phantom of the opera. For theatrical effect Michael had bought some coloured contact lenses and his eyes glowed a feral yellow colour.

A few people greeted them with handshakes and happy smiles while they pushed through the crowd to find the host. Lincoln’s apartment was big, much bigger than Michael and Sara’s. It seemed compensation for almost losing your life for a crime you didn’t commit was in the hundred’s of thousands of dollars. Lincoln shared his apartment with his son LJ but it was hard to distinguish between who owned what with their maturities being so close.

Finally, after navigating the crowds of people Sara doubted even knew Lincoln, they spotted him. With a beer in his hand he was laughing with a couple of his friends next to the punch bowl. His costume was severely cliché, consisting of a royal blue jacket made of velvet that buttoned with big shiny brass buttons and displayed golden embroidery around the cuffs. His shirt was white with huge neck ruffles, the material folded several times down his chest and frilly shirt cuffs hanging down at least a foot from his wrists. Sara looked at Michael whose chest jolted with a laugh he tried to hide as he reached out at tapped his brother on the shoulder.

Lincoln spun around, his face instantly widening into a tooth grin as he grappled Michael into a bear hug. “Bro!” he exclaimed loudly and Michael patted him on the shoulders hard. Pulling back from Michael he focused on Sara, his eyes roaming her entire body as she stood in her costume. Lincoln was a flirt, pure and simple and he always said what he was thinking, however crude. “Holy hell!” he cried with wide eyes that were fixated on Sara’s breasts.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she smiled and gripped Michael’s arm possessively, leaning into it to hide.

“Yeah,” he laughed, “Please do. You look…” he paused, titling his head slightly as he thought of the words. “Did you have surgery?” he prodded, unable to shake the notion of Sara’s breasts from his mind. Michael cleared his throat and Lincoln’s head snapped up to meet his brother’s warning stare. “I’m sorry Sara, that was rude,” he said and winked at his brother’s scowl. “Let me get you two a drink,” he offered, stepping backwards to the table behind him.

“No thanks,” she gestured with a flat palm when Lincoln shoved an open bottle into Michael’s hand and tried to do the same to her. “I’m not drinking tonight,” she beamed a secretive smile at Michael. Michael took a swig of his beer and his mouth twitched as he held in his elation. Lincoln’s eye’s narrowed at them both and he withdrew his beer-laden hand slowly.

“Why?” he asked eagerly. “Post operative orders?” he winked with a crooked smile and then pretending he had breasts, he proceeded to knead the air in front of his chest playfully. Michael laughed out loud at his brother’s antics, which warranted him a light slap on his arm from Sara.

“Sara didn’t have surgery,” Michael stated, never taking his eyes from her perfectly crafted face as he wound his arm around her life-baring waist. Lincoln watched them intently, unable to decipher the messages they conveyed with a series of eye flickers and smiles. Sara leant into Michael’s embrace and gave him a small nod. He turned to Lincoln and sucked in a large breath of air, his body buzzing with exhilaration. “We’re having a baby,” he chimed proudly to his brother.

Lincoln’s face erupted in the biggest open mouth smile Sara had ever seen and he grabbed them both for a gentle hug of congratulations. Sara felt crushed between the two men, who were more excited about the new life growing inside of her than she was. Lincoln pulled away from them and exhaled hard, desperately sucking in air again as his heart pumped more blood to his overworked lungs. “I’m going to be an uncle!” he chanted to a passer by who gave him a fearful smile.

“We’re glad we could help,” Michael teased his older brother taking another swig of beer. Lincoln’s gaze whipped back to them and he closed his eyes and shook his head, silently punching himself in his mind.

“I’m sorry guys,” he said. “I’m so selfish. Congratulations,” he said with worth and leant forward to kiss Sara on the cheek. She pouted her lips against his rough, stubbly face and thanked him with a pleased smile. Lincoln shook Michael’s hand and they toasted the new life with a clink of their beer bottles.

The rules of the party were simple. You were not allowed to talk with your partner unless you disregarded everything you had ever learnt about them, and you were to fabricate a new life for yourself, purely for the amusement of the evening. Plus, as Lincoln had stated, it gave you something to talk about in the morning. Sara fingered her cup of water absently as she walked the inside of the expansive apartment, smiling at people she didn’t know from behind her mask.

“Good Evening,” a thick, velvety voice chimed from behind her. Sara turned quickly, her uncomfortably high-heeled footwear flattening the carpet they stood on. “I saw you from across the room and couldn’t help but notice how radiant you look tonight,” the masked man commented with a smirk. Sara’s flushed pink into her cheeks and softened her posture.

“I’m pregnant,” she admitted with a beaming smile that she tried to keep straight upon her face. “My partner and I are to be parents,” she told him with mock aristocracy. One of his eyebrows wiggled upwards above his yellowy eye and he took her hand in his. Bringing it to his lips he planted a soft kiss to her delicate skin and brushed a thumb over her knuckles.

“That’s wonderful news,” he told her, leading her away from where they stood and shooting a quick glance over her shoulder before pulling her into a small room. It was dark, the door closed out the sounds of the party and Sara heard the door lock slide into its place in the doorframe. Her body came to life with expectation as Michael turned in the darkness and took her face in his hands, brought her lips to his and kissed her.

Sara dropped her cup of water with a giggle and arched herself into Michael as her lips parted and granted his tongue entry. Michael’s head dipped up and down as he tasted her on each forceful thrust of his tongue. Sara gripped at the back on his head, pulling him closer to her as she devoured his mouth hungrily and Michael reached up to pull the colourful mask from her face. The elastic pinged against his fingers with a sting that he ignored and discarded the mask to the floor.

Michael pushed his chest against Sara’s, edging her backwards into the room until the back of her knees bumped into a bed. She unexpectedly wrenched her lips from Michael’s as she toppled onto the springy obstruction with a giggle. Michael’s knees sank into the luxurious bed sheets as he climbed over her body hurriedly, silencing her laughing with a sweet kiss.

“Do you even know whose bed this is?” Sara asked him with a smirk when he pulled his lips from her own. Michael shot a glance around the room humorously but could see nothing in the darkness. Sara busily unbuttoned his shirt some more and moved her mouth to taste his inky skin with her tongue.

Michael’s heart raced as she trailed wet kisses in between lick on his bare chest, clutching at the bed sheets beside Sara’s head. “I don’t care,” he growled as he sat back on his knees and yanked his jacket from his shoulders. Sara followed him, her mouth never leaving his chest where she playfully sucked on one of his nipples. Michael moved to unzip her dress and the material rubbed together as it was discarded over her head, her inflated bosom bouncing into view.

“What if it’s Lincoln’s?” she joshed between kisses as her hands moved to unbutton Michael’s pants. Michael’s hands roamed her body leaving tiny sparks of electricity surging through her veins with every touch. His hands found her panties and he tugged on them, ripping them down her legs and throwing them onto her dress.

Michael pulled her face from his chest and gave her a wicked grin. Sara licked her lips with anticipation and dived for his mouth, pulling him backwards with her when she fell onto the bed. Neither cared whose bed it was as hormones raged their bodies. Michael’s entire body shivered as he reached into his boxers and freed his engorged member and held his breath as he positioned it at Sara’s soaking opening.

The muscles inside Sara ached for attention and yearned for the fast paced friction of their lovemaking. They both panted hard and fast as they stared into each other’s eyes lovingly. Michael’s eyes were primal, even without the yellow contacts and Sara’s were clouded with half sated passion. Michael braced a hand next to Sara’s head and angled his hips upwards, watching her face as he invaded her core.

Sara’s eyes pinched closed, her breath hitching as Michael slid home treacherously slowly. Her mouth hung open and he slid his hand to cup her cheek when he invaded it with his hot tongue. Michael quickened the pace, the fear of getting caught sending erotic signals to his brain. His tongue traced the inside of her mouth and silenced her moans as he thrust deeper and quicker into her relentlessly.

Sara has little time to react as Michael raced to bring her to her orgasm. Sara’s body tingled with a mixture of trepidation and pleasure as they ground against each other on someone else’s bed. Her breasts jiggled against Michael’s chest with painful delight and she gasped into his mouth, her voice climbing higher with every thrust.

Michael reached a hand down between them and pressed against her nub, the bundle of nerves twitching and constricting the muscles inside of her. Her head slammed into the mattress as she came, calling Michael’s name against his lips as her hands dug into the artistic skin on his shoulder. They were invisible in the darkness, Sara’s body enveloped by Michael’s, and he rode her release greedily, his own striking him blind a few seconds later.

Sara held Michael’s face to her chest as he returned from his ecstasy with snagging breaths. He began to giggle against her skin when his hand smoothed over the bed sheets above them and made contact with a familiar shaped furry object. “What is it?” Sara smiled under his rattling weight.

“It’s Lincoln’s bed,” he confirmed with a chuckle, the teddy bear in his hand unimpressed with their display, it’s unchanged features etched onto Michael’s mind from his childhood.


	3. November

Sara stared beyond the darkness before her to where she was sure the ceiling was. Beside her on a short solid pine table the alarm clock’s red digital numbers blared into the night. It was 3:27 AM and she sighed. So far pregnancy was everything people had warned her about. Her back ached, people had mistaken her for fat when she was under showing and now, at the most ungodly of hours, she was hungry.

Michael was asleep beside her, his back to her and his torso slowly rising and falling with every inhaled breath that fuelled his dreams. He always slept in just pyjamas bottoms, never feeling the need to keep any warmer in their apartment. Sleeping with two people in the same bed was so different from prison and any extra layers would often keep him awake all night sweating, Sara often waking to find him cooling down on their balcony.

Sara rolled sideways and ran a hand over his coloured shoulders bringing it to a rest or his bare bicep. Michael inhaled hard as he was suddenly awake; his groggy face full of worry and his heart skipping a few beats in his chest. He rolled onto his back and his elbow collided with Sara’s protruding belly. He immediately pressed a protective hand to her abdomen and apologised with a raspy voice.

“Sara, what’s wrong?” he whispered quickly as he rubbed his eyes open even further. “Are you ok?” he mumbled incoherently into the darkness as he sat up propped on one elbow. It was a new moon and there was no welcoming silvery light illuminating their bedroom tonight.

“I’m fine,” Sara, told him resting a warm hand over his on their unborn child’s maternal chamber. Sara felt Michael relax under her hand and he audibly breathed into the darkness before flopping back onto the warm cotton sheets. Sara smiled and shuffling closer to him, pressing herself as close to Michael as her belly would allow and resting her head onto his tattooed arm.

“Why did you wake me?” Michael asked her while he rubbed his loose gripping hand over the fabric of her pyjamas. Sara pressed her hand to his naked chest and drew lazy circles across the ink she recognised so well, even in the shadows of early morning. Sara immediately felt guilty before she revealed her reasons for waking him. Michael was genuinely tired and his eyes had already pulled themselves closed once more once he knew Sara was all right.

Sara paused for a while, childlike in her approach for her prize. “I’m hungry,” she admitted with a pout that she turned into a soft kiss against Michael’s side. His skin prickled to life and the hairs on his arms reached up into the air, waiting for more.

Michael let out a light laugh, his body to tired to manage much else. “I’ll get you whatever you want,” he told her, turning to her in the darkness. Sara’s eyes were adjusted now and she could make out the shadowed outline of Michael’s features inches from hers. Michael reached up a hand and plucked Sara’s from his chest, pulled it to his lips and planted a kiss against the smooth skin of her hand.

Sara’s face wrinkled when her remorse hit her once more. “We don’t have any of what I want,” she confessed with a shy voice. Michael sighed and dropped their hands back to his chest where his left hers and rubbed against his forehead.

“What time is it?” he prodded with a whine. Sara rolled backwards and the burning red numbers invaded her eyes. When Sara rolled from his arm Michael threw his legs off the edge of the bed and sat up, his body still half asleep and lacking strength in its relaxed state.

“It’s 3:40,” Sara confessed with a grimace when Michael groaned softly. Sara crawled across their bed and wrapped her arms around Michael’s broad shoulders, pressing her rounded belly to his back. “I’m sorry,” she chimed nuzzling her head under his chin. Michael laid a flat palm over her arms and held her to him for a second before he patted her reassuringly.

“It’s ok,” he grunted in a drained voice. Sara pressed a kiss to his temple and he smiled when she clambered back under the covers on her side of the bed. With his eyes still half closed Michael pushed himself from the bed and reached for a pair of slacks hanging over a wicker chair. Sara squealed with joy into the room while he pulled them up and over his pyjama bottoms and then slid his sock less feet into a pair of sneakers. “What do you want?” he asked as he dressed himself.

“I really want a cheese and chicken pizza,” Sara rolled off her order rapidly. “Oh, and can you get them to add sweet corn too?” she pleaded. Michael screwed up his face and made a sound of disgust at her concoction, his own stomach rejecting the thought of the food item.

“Where am I going to get a pizza with…” he paused before realising that his words were wasted on the four months pregnant Sara tucked up in their warm bed. “Never mind. I’ll find somewhere,” he sighed.

“Thank you,” Sara beamed from the bed as he made his way around to her side. “Try to hurry,” she teased as he leant down for a quick kiss. Michael snorted at her remark but couldn’t help but smile at her words as their lips met and then were pulled apart as he left the bedroom.

Michael had trawled the entire city for a twenty-four hour pizza place that could fulfil his request and hadn’t thrown him out laughing. It was almost 5 AM when he returned home, his efforts to keep quite thwarted by the dim early morning lighting. It was a mixture of greys and reds as it invaded the apartment and spilled across the wooden flooring. Michael’s sneakers were kicked off by the front door and his sweaty feet stuck to the laminate with each step, leaving an outline of his feet on the surface.

Michael rested the pizza for one sized box on the back on the cushiony sofa while he pulled his jacket off, his knee holding the box up to stop it from falling onto the floor. His balance on one leg was poor at best and he hopped back and forth on the floor with tiny thuds. His keys hung from his mouth where his teeth gripped furiously at the key ring and they rattled gentle as he swayed.

Pulling the keys from his mouth, and with both feet now planted firmly onto the floor, Michael rested the bunch of metal next to the phone. He pushed the box further onto the couch cushions and on baited breath pulled his hands away slowly; ready to catch it should it fall. Michael popped the button on his pants and let them fall, the coinage in his pocket more then willing to drag the garments to the floor. They landed with a clink and he stepped from them. Exhausted and laden with the most disgusting pizza known to the human race, Michael padded down the heated flooring to their bedroom.

No sound came from the room when Michael pushed down the chrome door handle and the door swung open. Deep red rays of the rising sun peeked through the heavy drawn dark brown curtains and edged their way across the floor and onto the corner of the bedpost. Michael smiled to himself when he saw Sara. She was curled up on his side of the bed, face pressed lovingly into his pillow and her hands grasped at the scented material eagerly.

Michael set the pizza box down on a soft pink padded vanity stool Sara kept next to the door. It was square and velvety to touch and the pizza barely heated its surface, as it was almost cold. Michael tiptoed towards the bed, his feet barely making a sound on the floor, his heels raised into the air hidden by his dangling bottoms.

The smile never left his face as Michael slid under the covers of Sara’s side of the bed, the crisp sheets cold and unwelcoming. Sara had been asleep for at least an hour and her side of their luxurious king size bed had not felt the warmth of her body once. Michael’s body shivered slightly as it hit the cold fabric and he sucked in a small breath through his teeth making a hissing sound as he did so.

Sara didn’t stir and she was serene as she slept, her cheek pushed upwards against Michael’s pillow taking the corner of her mouth with it. She looked like she was smiling but her soft snoring and shallow breathing said otherwise. Michael pressed his body into hers, her warm back immediately radiating his body while he snaked a hand over her hip and rested his flat palm to her stomach.

“Sara?” he whispered into her ear, his hot breath tickling at her non-responsive skin. “I got your pizza,” he told her with a smile.

“Mmmm,” she breathed, her mouth never opening to let the sound out but instead it vibrating from her chest and out of her nose as she slept. Sara did not stir as Michael watched her, her body lying as still as it had when he first entered the bedroom. Michael yawned next to her, his exhaustion finally catching up to him and he laid his head down on the pillow behind her and did not protest when his eyes fell shut. Michael’s body felt heavy and seemed to fade away but his slumber did not last long.

When Michael opened his eyes, the Chicago daybreak was spilling across his face and he writhed in the bed to get away from it. His eyes peeled open on their second attempt and he smacked his lips together, slowly encouraging his saliva glands to moisturise his dry mouth. He let out a sleepy groan as he turned over, his arm thrown over his eyes to block out the sun and discovered his side of the bed empty.

Michael sat up and scanned the room. Sara was nowhere to be seen but her pyjamas had been folded into a neat pile and were sitting on the door side stool, the pizza box from last night having disappeared. As if on cue, Sara appeared in the door way, her voluptuous body leaning gently against the cream painted wood and dressed in her casual-smart wear.

“You’re up,” Sara observed pushing herself into the room with a slight arch of her back. “I was just coming to wake you,” she smiled setting herself on the edge of the bed with one leg tucked under herself. She wore black pants with an elastic waste and a light pink v-necked sweater that covered her bump nicely. Her hair was freshly washed and smelt of vanilla as it bounced sideways and landed on her shoulders with curled ends.

Michael gave her puzzled look before cupping her cheek with one hand and planting a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. “Good morning,” he breathed as they parted, Sara’s eyes flickering open seconds after her spoke. Sara’s hand rested on Michael’s thigh, the soft down blanket covering it enclosing her fingers in a feathery grip.

“I’m sorry about last night,” she said with a crooked smile. Michael laughed and absently brushed a hair from her face, watching his every move with an intense stare.

“It’s ok. I don’t mind,” he beamed back at her, his hand switching from a single strand to an entire handful of hand as he stroked the soft red locks lovingly. “Anything for you two,” he said to her stomach, bending his torso in half so he could baby talk the inanimate belly. Sara chuckled at his antics and pulled his face up to meet hers again. She planted a kiss to his smile that never faded beneath hers while she held his face firmly in her hands.

“Come on,” she ordered him with a playful bat on the arm. “Get dressed or we’ll be late for my ultrasound.” Michael groaned through his smile as he flopped back onto the warm, inviting bed. Sara lifted herself from the bed and made her way back into the hall whilst pointing a menacing finger towards him. It made Michael laugh but when she was out of sight, he sprung out of bed and was washed and dressed in no time.

“How can you tell it’s a baby?” Michael asked the nurse, cocking his head to one side and trying to make sense of the grey and white shaded blobs on the monitor. She smiled to herself and lifted an aged finger to the screen.

“This is the baby’s hand,” she told him, pointing to a star shaped object on the screen. Michael’s eyebrows pulled together as he concentrated on the image, his brain trying to process the blurry mass of greys before him. Michael leant forward in his bedside chair for a better view, his hands encasing Sara’s in a shielding cocoon.

The nurse moved the scanner over Sara’s lubricated and exposed belly and the sound of fluid moving filled the room. Sara’s eyes never left the screen beside her, her eyes being able to see the baby in the jumble of shades easily. A gush of emotion flowed through her and straight into Michael as the nurse picked up the soft thumping of the baby’s heart beat. “And there’s the heart sounding strong and healthy,” the nurse told them with a quick, well-practised smile.

Sara sighed relieved and turned to Michael with a huge smile, which he returned eagerly. “That’s our baby,” she told him proudly, her voice breaking slightly and her eyes welling with sudden tears of joy. Michael stood from his seat hard plastic chair and pressed his lips to her forehead before resting his own against it.

“Do you want to know the sex?” the nurse asked, shaking them both from their tender interactions. They looked at each other with indecision having never discussed the subject until now. The nurse’s gaze darted between Sara and Michael, one hand poised against Sara’s abdomen with the answer on the screen in front of her, and the other ready to take a screen shot of their baby.

“Do we?” Michael asked Sara, giving her hand a light squeeze of reassurance. Sara quickly wiped her eyes and turned to the nurse with a nod.

“Alright,” the nurse said, pressing a button to capture the baby’s images for them. “It’s a boy. Congratulations,” she chirped merrily with a smile.


	4. December

“Michael…” Sara giggled beneath him in the dim lighting of their bedroom. Sara was pressed into the soft, latte sheets, her hair spilling onto the pillowcase like a deep red sunset illuminating a coffee cream sky. Her soft, warm fingertips rested lazily upon Michael’s arm as he hovered above her, his harshly coloured skin silky smooth to her touch.

Michael grunted with frustration as he twisted his hips sideways and guided himself towards Sara’s core without success. “Dammit!” he growled with gritted teeth, his already aroused skin aching to be nearer to Sara as the December snow fell outside, covering their balcony and plunging the city into silence. Michael shook his head with frustration, which soon faded away when Sara laid an open palm to his bristly cheek.

“Michael, this isn’t working,” Sara soothed with a gentle caress of his face. Her hand snaked behind his head and rubbed at the soft hair that grew there, reaching out into the room for her attention. Michael’s ocean blue gaze met hers in the low wattage lighting, Sara’s hazel-green orbs as clear as day to his sight.

“All I want is to make love to you on Christmas Eve and see your beautiful face,” he told her as he reached up and held her face in one large hand. Michael was elated at the idea of becoming a father but he would sooner not have sex than have to do it facing away from Sara. Her expression of passion, the way her hair stuck to her face as she perspired under him, the way she called his name when she climaxed, it escaping from her moist mouth on a breath; Michael never wanted to miss that.

“You’re a traditionalist Michael, you know that?” Sara teased in a seductive voice with a quirk of her brow. Michael grinned in response, a chuckle escaping his half open mouth and the sound vibrating through Sara.

“And still horny as hell,” Michael whispered in a low voice against her ear, his hand trailing down the side of Sara’s lightly haired body and between them to her soft, dark mound. Sara’s back arched in response to his hand so close to her boiling centre and her five month old bump pressed against Michael’s inky stomach. Sara bit her bottom lip as Michael brushed his talented hands over her labia, teasing her already submissive body back into arousal.

Sara’s eyes opened briefly when she felt Michael shift his position and her heavy lidded stare met his dark fiery eyes. His mouth was crooked on his face, the corner turning upwards into a menacing grin as he slid down her body and disappeared under the covers. His hands left hot fingerprints all over her torso as he dragged them over it, his mouth planting wet kisses to every inch of the scorching surface.

Sara’s hands gripping at the feather covers when Michael’s lips locked over her clitoris, his tongue flicking out to tickle the sensitive nub playfully. She inhaled heard and her heart raced in her ribcage, the echoing sound easily heard over the silent storm outside. Her head rolled sideways and the bedside lamp shone into her face, turning it orange before Sara darted out a hand and batted the shade so it angled away from her.

Michael took long methodical drags on her nerves, savouring the throbbing sensation it left upon his tongue. His stubble scratched at the entrance to her core, the change in sensation coaxing Sara’s juices from her centre. Michael’s tongue dived into her, dragging a morsel of her nectar into his mouth with every thrust. Sara wiggled as a pressure built up inside of her and Michael held her hips still, pulling them closer to him mouth as he drank her hungrily.

Sara reached a hand under the covers and gripped at Michael’s shaved head, the contact exciting him even further. She gasped when he inserted two long fingers into her dripping abyss, the muscles immediately contracting and pulling them in further. Michael listened to Sara’s breathing and each time she inhaled hard, he pushed a little deeper, dragging his fingertips over the sensitively ridged g-spot.

“Michael…” Sara choked out, her mouth full of saliva where she has forgot to swallow. It was like swallowing a bulk of nothing, her throat pulling the offending obstruction down with an effort and leaving her gasping harder. Her nails dug into the sheets as she gripping them, her eyes pressed together and never wanting to open. Michael sucked harder at her as his fingers moved in and out, the sounds of her high pitched ecstasy muffled by the blanket that covered him.

As her orgasm approached Michael released her hips from his hand and took his member in a powerful grip. He withdrew his fingers and crawled up the bed beside her, leaning himself on his back next to Sara. One of his hot hands found her bundle of nerves between her legs and stroked at it furiously, never letting her drop from heaven for a second. His other moved up and down his length, quivering with each twist as Michael watched Sara’s euphoria envelope her.

Her head bashed into the luxurious pillow and her vision flashed white behind her eyelids. Her hand darted out and electrified Michael’s chest, the skin tingling when she dragged her blunt nails over his flesh. Michael leered down at her, his race to his own orgasm coming to an end as his let out a breathy cry and spilled his seed onto Sara’s heaving body.

Michael left Sara to bring herself down from her pleasure, taking her hand in his and guiding her to his still hard member. Sara took him in her hand with a content hum and grinned to herself as she stroked him down from his own climax. Michael hissed with the contact, her hand feeling like five tiny hot pokers sizzling into his already searching flesh while he rubbed his hands through the white liquid that spotted over Sara.

Sara lolled her head sideways where Michael was waiting for their eyes to meet. They were both heavy lidded and filled with arousal when Sara seized Michael’s lips in a kiss. It was slow and loving, Michael’s tongue lapping at the roof of Sara’s mouth and leaving her begging for more. Sara’s body pressed into Michael and he complied with her silent request, pulling her closer with a large flat palm to her back.

“Better now?” Sara taunted with a grin as they lay together, heated by passion in the cold winter night. “Even though I didn’t do anything,” Sara added with a wink. Their faces were millimetres apart in the low light, sharing a single pillow in the centre of the bed.

“Oh you did plenty,” Michael chuckled with a hoarse tone to his voice. Sara blushed lightly under his gaze and dropped her head into the space between them, her forehead sticking to Michael’s clammy chest. Michael wrapped an arm around her and held her close to him as they laughed and then his azure orbs picked up the time blinking at him from Sara’s alarm clock. “Hey,” he said, hooking a bent finger under her chin and bringing her face back up to meet his. “Merry Christmas,” he beamed and pressed his lips to hers once more.

Lincoln and LJ we already awake when Sara and Michael emerged from their bedroom having showered and dressed in some loose fitting clothes that were comfortable and acceptable attire for when guests were staying over. Michael was wearing a pair of dark blue sweat pants and a marl grey t-shirt. He was barefooted and walked on his toes with surprising ease down the hall to the kitchen counter.

LJ looked up from a bowl of cereal he had helped himself too and milk dribbled from his mouth when he smiled. “Nice, LJ,” Michael commented, motioning to his nephew’s face with a waggling finger. Sara brushed past Michael with a smile, trailing her hand lightly across his back in a concealed intimacy that only they shared the meaning off.

“Good morning guys,” Sara sang towards Lincoln and LJ as she pulled the fridge door open with a dull click of the silver handle and reached in for some milk. Michael poured two mugs of steaming hot coffee on the counter top, observing Lincoln’s grin behind the newspaper he wasn’t reading. Sara handed Michael the milk and followed his gaze to Lincoln who bit his lip to try and hide his wide smile.

“Are you ok Lincoln?” Michael asked with a frown, pouring a drop of milk into each mug before him and adding a sugar into each of them. The spoon clinked against the side of the ceramic as he stirred them, his face darting between his actions and his brother on the kitchen stool opposite him.

“Fine,” Lincoln coughed and cleared his throat, straightening his demeanour. “Just…” he paused, pushing himself from the stool and slapping the paper to the tiled worktop. He puffed out his chest and tugged at his waistband, pulling it further up his body as he inhaled. “Let my bed down gently. You wouldn’t want to hurt it’s feeling now you’ve found another,” he winked and slapped Michael on the shoulder as he walked past them into the lounge.

Sara blushed and pressed her face into Michael’s upper arm, trying to hide her rosy cheeks in the cotton material of his shirt. Lincoln has obviously heard their expedition last night and as she was doing most of the shouting, she figured he had heard from the next room. Also, he knew they had copulated on his bed at his Halloween party. LJ, having drawn the tiny bedroom at the end of the apartment and having heard none of last night’s escapade, looked between them confused.

“I don’t get it,” he said with a shake of his head and a mouth full of Cheerio’s. He glanced between his uncle’s grin and his father who sat in the exposed lounge taking in the lavishly decorated Christmas tree. He dropped his spoon into the bowl and waved his hand through the air beside him. “I don’t get it,” he repeated after swallowing his mouthful.

“Never mind LJ,” Michael smiled and lifted his coffee to his lips and took a sip. He turned and pressed a warm paw to the small of Sara’s back and led her to the couch. “Let’s open some gifts, shall we?” he beckoned him over to join them. LJ’s frown disappeared and his scrawny teenage body joined them by the tree, the snow still falling outside.

Michael and Sara had decorated the live tree with glistening gold and red balls, golden tinsel and a string of tiny red light bulbs shone from the pine needles. It was potted in a big square box and even though it had no roots, the impression made it seem alive. Underneath it were an array of boxes and elongated parcels, each were tied with a bow and had a message of goodwill and a name on it scrawled onto novelty stickers.

Lincoln knelt down beside the tree and plucked one of the gifts from the pile. “Here,” he stretched forward and handed the flattened box to Sara as she sat next to Michael on the couch. “This is for both of you guys from both of us,” he said, gesturing between LJ and himself with a half closed fist. LJ perked up when he remembered what was in the package and shuffled to the edge of his seat.

“Open it,” he jeered, wide eyed with excitement. He rubbed his hands together and shifted on his seat in nervousness. “I hope you like it,” he added with a weak smile. Sara returned his smile and studied the parcel in her hands carefully. It was light, having almost no weight to it, and it covered her entire lap when she rested the box there. Michael pulled at the ribbon and it uncurled itself, falling to the sides of the box and allowed the lid to be opened.

Inside was some white tissue paper but underneath of that was a tiny baby grow suit. Sara pulled it out of the rustling paper and held it up in the air. A smiles spread across her features and Michael let out a hearty laugh that caused an infectious rally to Lincoln and LJ. The baby suit was white with dark blue stripes running vertically down it and a blue belt design printed across the middle. On the left side of the front was a large blue circle with red lettering inside of it, clearly spelling out the word “Cubs”.

“You like it?” Lincoln asked them with a wide, open-mouthed grin. Sara moved the empty box out of the way and laid it flat over her rounded abdomen as if she was laying it over the top of their baby. Michael laid his hand over the top of the suit, smoothing out the wrinkled fabric and suddenly felt a dull impact on his palm.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed pulling his hand back in terror that was soon replaced with joy. Sara’s head snapped towards his and she giggled nervously. Michael sat frozen beside her, his hand hovering in the air above her stomach.

“Did you feel that?” Sara asked him breathlessly, pressing his hand to her stomach again. She rested her hands over the top of his as they waited for the tiny feet inside to kick out at the walls of its protective home once more. Michael nodded with a held breath as his hand splayed anxiously across the tiny Cubs uniform.

The baby kicked out again, the skin beneath Michael’s palm being pressed to his skin forcefully. Michael nodded quickly at Sara before turning to Lincoln with a pale face but a wide toothy grin. “I think he likes it,” he said to him and the baby kicked out again.

Sara felt a wave of emotion flood through her, and the tiny life growing inside of her felt even more special now that it was interacting with his father. Until now Sara had questioned her ability as a mother, having never had hers to grow up around she felt distant and lacked a maternal presence. The second she felt her baby move inside of her she knew she had nothing to worry about.


	5. January

Sara stood barefoot in the kitchen with a tub of ice cream in one hand and a large spoon in the other. Although Cookie dough fudge mint chip wasn’t her favourite, it was what she had wanted at that exact moment in time. Even if she had never tasted it before, it was heavenly on her taste buds and the half eaten tub was justifiable proof.

Michael struggled in with another bag of baby shopping, the white carriers laden with suits, socks, scratch mitts and baby safe toys, all of which had some sort of a jingle to them. Behind him was a tall man dressed in a white boiler suit and matching cap. His name was sewn onto the suit, which buttoned up the centre, and the baby shop’s name was sewn onto his cap. He was carrying a large brown box, the effort from the lifting evident on his reddened face and clenched, white lips.

Another man followed them both, holding nothing more than a clipboard, again adorning the company name. He had a moustache and was short and skinny. His hair receded under his cap and his dirty black boots remained in the hall while his colleague set the box down against the couch. He scribbled something onto the sheet he had attached to the clipboard and tapped the pen eagerly.

After setting down the bags next to the couch, Michael thanked the man with a quick slap on his shoulder and followed him back to the door. “Sign here please,” the short man said monotonously, his day job obviously having turned him into a robotic machine and nothing more. Michael took the clipboard and scrawled his name next to the large, blue cross the man had splattered onto the page next to a dotted line.

“Thank you,” Sara called, her words muffled by melting ice cream as Michael clicked the door closed behind them. He leant against the door and hefted a sigh from his lungs, rolling his head against the wood until his eyes met Sara’s in the kitchenette beside them. “What?” she smiled, her eyes darting around the kitchen to avoid his gaze with her cheeky grin.

A smile spread across Michael’s face as he pushed himself from the door and stalked towards her in the kitchen. The sleeves of his smartly pressed blue shirt were rolled up to his elbows in an attempt to cool his body from the exertions of work, and with a quick shove, he slid them further up his arms. His face was wickedly innocent as he approached her, his mouth twitching as he tried to straighten his grin and hide it from her dazzling hazel eyes.

Michael reached out and gently took the tub of ice cream from Sara’s hands, the outside of the stiff cardboard carton wet with melted ice particles. Sara let out a whine of protest as Michael scooped out a flat spoonful and popped the spoon into his mouth. “That’s mine,” she told him, crossing her arms so they rested on her engorged abdomen. Michael deliberately pulled the spoon from his mouth slowly, his tongue scraping the metal as he did so, not leaving any remnants of the delicious frozen cream. With a sucking sound the spoon left his lips and he studied the spoon, twiddling it in the air before him.

“Well, see I thought I deserved a treat for carrying all of you’re shopping up here,” he paused to lick his lips before his eyes met hers once again, his eyebrow raising a little when his eyes widened mischievously and he took another scoop of the latte coloured dessert from the pot. Sara coughed out a laugh and she reached out to snatch the tub back with both hands.

“You took the elevator,” she corrected his exaggerated comment with a sarcastic air. Michael emptied the spoon into his mouth quickly and smiled, holding the cold, creamy substance on his tongue where it began to melt. “And give me my spoon,” Sara commanded playfully, stepping close to Michael and reaching out for the black handled cutlery.

Michael lifted his arm above his head and chuckled with his mouth closed, the warming dessert dripping from his mouth a little. Sara glared at Michael, narrowing her eyes and trying to force her smile from her face. “Ok, I’m sorry. Here,” Michael swallowed and offered her the spoon but snatched it back with a hearty laugh when she reached for it.

“You’re not funny Michael,” Sara told him unable to hide another smile that crept across her lips. Turning she pulled the wooden handled drawer open and took out another spoon identical to Michael’s. Spinning to him once again she leaned against the cold tiled surface, grinned triumphantly before plunging the metal scoop into the ice cream tub and gulping a large mouthful.

Defeated, Michael wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and closed the gap between them. “Hey!” Sara weakly protested as he pulled the dessert from her hands once more and without taking his eyes from hers, gave himself another mouthful of the cookie flavoured cream. Sara’s eyes followed his hands as he slid the tub onto the counter and set the spoon down with a clatter as it hit the ceramic tiling. When she turned back to face him his face was inches from hers and her pulse raced beneath her skin, her entire body rushing with adrenaline and anticipation.

Michael pressed against her, pinning her to the worktop and caged her in with two massive arms as he rested his hands on the white tiles beside her. Sara giggled, knowing full well his intentions and gripped the sides of his face ready for her dessert. Michael leant forward with a sinful grin and pressed his lips to Sara’s smile, her hands pulling his face even closer in a crushing kiss. Sara opened her mouth and ice cream dribbled from Michael’s into hers as their tongues danced, coating her taste buds with the sweet, minty pudding.

Michael’s hands slid from the counter to Sara’s hips, his hands cool from holding the ice cream and the harsh tiles. Sara’s top rode up slightly when she reached her arms behind Michael’s neck, pulling his head closer, deepening the kiss further. Michael tasted like the ice cream but it was hinted with his usual tang that Sara enjoyed so much. She gasped slightly when his cool hands met her scorching skin, each and every tiny follicle prickling to attention upon her skin and sending a shiver up her spine.

Michael broke the kiss first, pulling back to marvel at Sara’s heavy lidded expression as she sucked in a much needed breath of air. She hummed contently at the sensations left in her mouth and opened her eyes to a smiling Michael. Her hands slid from his neck across his shoulders and rested in a pair on his chest, his darkly tattooed body visible through his shirt in the bright kitchen lighting.

“Where do you get this stuff, Michael?” Sara asked amused by his many talents that never ceased to amaze her. Michael quirked an eyebrow and twisted his head sideways with that sweet smile that made him so handsome.

“Are you complaining?” Michael teased, running his hands across her back and around her swollen stomach lazily. Sara’s face erupted with a toothy grin and she averted her eyes shyly, biting her bottom lip playfully with a lowered gaze. “I didn’t think so,” he whispered exultantly.

“I have to shower,” Sara laughed and pushed against Michael’s chest feebly, urging him to let her past. Michael stood fast, rocking from side to side on each foot nimbly as Sara tried to pass. She sighed with a unforced smile and rolled her eyes. “I mean it Michael. Let me past,” she giggled, pressing her entire body to his in an attempt to move him.

Michael suddenly dropped from before her and squatted on his toes in front of her. Rubbing his splayed hands over Sara’s belly he pressed his face to the thin material of her top that had divided from her bottoms during their kiss. Sara placed her hands against his soft, black hair and stroked at it gently, a proud smile playing across her lips.

“Hey baby, it’s daddy,” he said to her extended abdomen whilst looking back up to her and flashing her a smile. “I’m going to go build your crib,” he looked back to the smooth, round flesh next to his face, his breath catching on it and warming it in the room. “When mommy comes back, in a towel,” he added seductively, his voice a velvety whisper against Sara’s skin. He tilted his head back up to catch Sara’s amused face. “We’ll get you some more ice cream,” he said, winking at Sara before her stood and captured her mouth in another kiss.

Sara pressed her hands against his shoulders and their lips pulled apart as he sidestepped her and let her past. Smiling to herself Sara made her way to their bathroom and their en suite bathroom. Michael followed by halted his movements by the couch where the delivery man had left the large stapled cardboard box. He tugged against it and laid it on the floor in front of the couch with a thud, the wooden bars in the box clattering together as the round dowels rolled around.

Exactly four hours later, Sara had showered, made and eaten dinner and was busy getting ready for bed. Michael on the other hand was still sat like a teddy bear with his legs spread open and various lengths of wood scattered between them on their wood effect flooring. His shirt had been wrenched open by three buttons, his shoes had been discarded behind him and a scrap of crinkled paper rustled in his hand as he studied the drawings.

Sara snaked a flat hand around his shoulder and down his chest. “Come to bed,” she pleaded, pressing a kiss to his ear lobe. Michael’s response to her advances was non existent as his eyes darted between a piece of wood and the diagram in his hand. His mouth turned up at the corner and he frowned. “Michael…” Sara warned against his ear.

“I am an engineer,” he said dumbfounded, slapping the back of one hand into the one-sheet instructions he held in the other. “I build skyscrapers for a living and I can’t even build my baby a crib!” he exclaimed angry, balling the instructions between his hands and throwing them into the pile of pine planks before him.

“We can fix it tomorrow,” Sara soothed, trailing her hands down his arms until she reached his hand. Taking it in hers she tugged at him, encouraging him to stand. Michael grunted in response, his blood boiling beneath his skin at how something to trivial could beat him so easily. “I’ll call Lincoln tomorrow. He must of built one for LJ,” Sara told him smoothing a caring hand over his brow and down the side of his face.

“I suppose,” Michael pouted, taking a deep calming breath. “It’s just…” he winced, his teeth clearly crushed together in his mouth.

“I know, it’s mocking you,” Sara teased, biting her tongue between her straight teeth and wiggling her eyebrows. Michael laughed and shook his head, his shoulders jiggling with the movement. “Come on,” Sara began, unbuttoning his shirt slowly with a sly smile and a lick of her lips. “Let’s go to bed,” she winked, pulling him backwards down the hall to their bedroom by his shirt edges.


	6. February

Having overslept again, Michael hurriedly tied his laces while he sat on their couch. He pushed himself up and shook his legs, letting his pants fall to rest on his polished footwear. He reached for his jacket on the back of the couch and shoved his arms into the sleeves as he moved for the doorway. Sara watched him from the kitchen, a mug of steamy coffee resting below her bottom lip, condensing hot vapour onto her smile.

It was her fault Michael was late. Again. Pregnancy, if anything, really did wreak havoc on your hormones, especially those that caused her a pleasure, tension and want so intense she was never sated. Michael paused briefly by the counter top and pulled a piece of cold, dry toast from a plate next to Sara. She watched him intently, taking a sip of her beverage and flashing him a smile. Michael caught her beaming at him and his mouth flexed into a crooked smile.

“What are you smiling at?” he pried, taking a bite of the toast and munching the crusty substance in his mouth. It was brittle and hard to swallow on its own, so he reached out for Sara’s coffee, which she relinquished willingly with an innocent grin. His eyes never left hers over the white mug as he took a gulp and pushed the toast down his throat.

“Aren’t you forgetting something today?” she implied, taking her coffee back from him and rested it on her bump. Michael’s face was blank and his bottom lips pursed out while his eyes rolled towards the ceiling, his face contemplating the day. His head began to shake seriously and his eyes met Sara’s again.

“Am I?” Michael asked her, frozen before her adjusting his tie so the knot slid into place hiding his top button. His mouth was slightly ajar as his lungs sucked in breath he needed from his energetic rush to get ready, and Sara stared at him dumbfounded before placing her half full mug to the white tiled counter. Her elated smile left her face and was replaced with a quick flash of a forced one.

Sara’s eye darted behind Michael to where his workbag rested against the telephone table. Sara reached out her delicate hands and smoothed out some creases on his finely pressed white shirt and leant forward, planting a quick kiss to his lips. Confused by her sudden depression, Michael shot her a questioning glance. “Don’t forget your bag,” she pointed towards the table and his eyes followed her finger.

Michael’s feature spread into a thankful grin and he captured her lips in a kiss once more. His palms flattened out over her distended stomach and he rubbed at it idly before their lips parted. “Thanks,” he told her quickly before bounding for the door. He threw his heavy bag over his shoulder. His laptop inside was the bulk of the weight, but he also carried important papers and some blueprints with him.

Michael rested his hand on the handle of the door before he turned to Sara once more, a frown upon his face as he struggled to remember something important. Sara’s face lit up when she thought he might of remembered the day, but it was all in vain when his lips parted and he spoke. “What time are you home form work today?” he asked her, eagerly turning the handle of the door and pulling it free from its frame.

Sara’s heart sank inside of her chest but on the outside she faked another smile. “Four Thirty,” she told him resting her hands to her aching spine that had arched under the weight of carrying their son. Michael smiled at her once more before disappearing through the doorway and pulling the door closed behind him.

Sara’s lips vibrated against each other as she pushed air from her mouth frustrated. She lifted her coffee from the counter and pressed the rim to her lips, inhaling the scent of the bitter liquid as she drank it. Her eyes caught the calendar that hung in their kitchen, the space next to February 14th – Valentines Day – left complete blank where they had made no reservation for dinner, a movie or anything. The clock next to the calendar ticked loudly in the silent kitchen, catching Sara’s attention and alerting her to the time.

Pouring the rest of her coffee down the sink, Sara quickly turned on the tap to wash away the brown staining fluid from the sink basin. With her keys in her hand she positioned her hand bag over her shoulder and followed the already long gone Michael out of the door and to her waiting job at the near by hospital.

The daily onslaught of hypochondriacs and over worried parents seemed even more depressing now that Sara knew she was to spend her Valentines Day with little more than a home cooked meal, which she would probably end up cooking, and a forgetful boyfriend. All day she was snippy to her colleagues and patients and this time she couldn’t even blame it on her pregnancy. She was just down right mad with Michael.

As she made her way to her car after signing off of her shift, she was still angry. Her feet ached in her heels as they stomped against the concrete beneath her feet and with every step she cursed her ridiculous choice of shoes. They were only low heels, keeping her dress casual but formal, but her slightly swollen ankles disagreed with her choice on every step.  
  
Sara eased herself into the driving seat and felt under her seat for the lever that would release her seat on its runner. Pulling the rubber coated handle upwards she slid forward until her bump was millimetres from he steering wheel. At seven months along, it was nearly impossible for Sara to do anything she had once looked upon as a simple task. With a frustrated sigh that was exacerbated by Michael’s arrogance this morning, she turned over the engine and started home.

The elevator chimed on the fourth floor and the number, composed of some faded glass above the door, lit up like a candle and caught Sara’s attention. It was short lived because when the doors pulled apart with a grinding scrape, she stepped out of the metal box and made her way along the hall. The carpet of their apartment block was flat, well worn and a dark blue colour with tiny flecks of white here and there in what looked like a pattern. Sara tended to suspect it hadn’t been changed since the building went up but she was thankful it had no implications on the lavish interiors.

Just like every other apartment on the floor, Sara and Michael’s front door was black, had a round chrome handle and dull chrome numbers screwed to the door below the small, glass spy holes. Sara’s key fitted perfectly into the lock and with a click the door opened and she stepped inside. It was getting dark inside the apartment by the time she arrived home, the street lamps from the ground below never filtering any light into their home.

Sara’s nostrils filled with the smell of thyme and applesauce, oven roasted vegetables and a hint of a garlic olive oil. She closed the door behind her and peered into the kitchenette, her frown immediately turning into a delighted grin. A round table had been erected in the centre of the kitchen floor with large white tablecloth draped over it. Two empty wine bottles stood in the middle of it while two half used black candles slowly burnt away at the wax leaving solidified drips down the edge of the green tinted glass.

Two big empty wine glasses sat to the right of a large white dinner plate adorning what looked like her favourite home cooked cuisine. A Large pork chop marinated with applesauce and then dusted with seasoned breadcrumbs lay next to some oven-roasted carrots that had been sprinkled with olive oil. The cutlery next to the plates was their best stainless silver set her father had bought them for Christmas and that had never used.

Sara took a tentative step towards the table, her mouth open with awe and shock. Michael sat opposite her so he was facing her when she emerged in the dim candle lighting. Her bag slipped from her shoulder and landed with a bump on the floor and she blindly fumbled for the counter to put her keys there. Sara’s eyes lingered across the display before resting on Michael where he sat with the smile of a man who had known it was Valentine’s Day all along.

He was wearing some smart pants but was romantically bare footed and the bottoms of his pant legs rested under his heels on the large, tiled floor. His black shirt was one she had bought for him, the expensive material shimmering in the light when he moved to rest his elbow over the back of his chair. The top three buttons were undone and Sara spied his hellish tattoo underneath, toning his skin with shades of grey. His hand hung limp over the chair and the other rested in a loosely balls fist on the white cloth before him.

Sara’s eyes met his across the candle lit table, her heart skipping a beat in her chest with excitement. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he told her, his voice drizzling from his mouth like liquid chocolate. Sara’s eyes roamed the table once more as she took a few steps close to him, trailing her soft fingertips across the edge of the smooth cloth. Michael braced himself on the chair back and rose from his seat so he was standing in front of her. “And you thought I’d forgotten,” he grinned down at her childishly.

“Wow, Michael…” Sara paused with a blink and a small shake of her head. “Just, wow,” she breathed as she looked up from the table and met his gaze once more. His mouth was poised into a wide smile, his eyes as excited about this evening as she now was. Sara flashed him a smile, her body tingling with joy as she pulled her jacket off her shoulders and threw it across the near by counter. Michael’s brow furrowed, confused by her sudden urgency to disrobe.

Sara’s hand darted out and clutched at the side of his clean shaven face and she pulled his lips to her with a crushing force. Michael’s leant down to her, his hands frozen at his sides as she devoured his mouth hungrily. Sara released his mouth and he smacked his lips together, tasting her on his slightly swollen lips. Her eyes bore into him, silently telling him of her sudden arousal and need. Michael’s mouth turned up at one side, his own eyes growing dark with desire.

“What about dinner?” he mused, neither caring nor remotely interested in the meal anymore. Forty minutes preparation followed by fifty minutes slow cooking had all but fizzled away when Sara had kissed him.

“Screw dinner,” Sara ordered him on a heady whisper, urgently fumbling with the buttons of her blouse before lunging at his lips once more. Her lips parted and her tongue darted out to taste Michael’s with nothing but passionate intensity. Michael parted his lips to allow her entry and their tongue duelled, each licking and flicking over the inside of their mouths. Michael tasted like seasoned carrots in her mouth, obviously having swiped a few from his plate as he waited her return.

Michael broke their kiss, his chest heaving for breath as he gulped it down wantonly. Sara left him breathless and her kisses were no exception to the rule. When they kissed he felt alive, on fire, as if his skin was about to fizzle from his bones and leave him exposed to the world. Sara made him feel as though he was everything in the world, appreciated and loved by the most fantastic soul he had ever met and now, as they prepared to become parents, Michael felt more alive than ever.

Michael’s gaze dropped to the tiny space between them where Sara worked furiously at his black shirt buttons, the small, round sewn on discs being pushed through each loophole with haste. Michael began to pant harder as his body reacted to Sara undressing him. His groin tingled and nerves all over his body sparked to life, his eyes flicking between Sara’s hands as she finished her task and tore open his shirt to marvel at his beautiful body beneath.

Michael sucked in a breath as the cool air invaded his skin and he felt Sara’s eyes roaming his bare chest. Not that he wasn’t grateful but pregnancy had made Sara it’s a ravenous nymphomaniac, and right now, as she drank in his toned body with her hungry eyes, Michael wanted to throw caution to the wind and take her like a wild beast. Sara’s head lifted slowly and Michael caught her gaze, her eyes almost turning dark brown with her obviously awakening to him as a visual stimuli.

“Fuck me. Right now,” She commanded with desperate intention. Her voice was low and escaped her lips seductively as she breathed the words that finally ignited his inward passion. Michael froze for a second, his mind blanking at her words, words he had never heard Sara say and words he knew she had never meant so sincerely. His erection strained in his boxers, instantly hardening at her demand.

Michael closed the gap between them and pulled her face to his with two powerful hands. His hands slid up her body, a low moan escaping her lips as they brushed over her deep red lacy bra, exciting her nipples so they jut out into the space between them. Michael roughly pushed her blouse over her shoulders, tugging it down her arms as she reached behind her back and helped him in his pursuit, yanking it over her hands and letting it fall to the floor behind her.

Sara kicked off her shoes and Michael began undoing his belt, the leather stretching as he pulled the thin metal spoke free from its hole and wrenching it open. Shaking hands rapidly unhooked the pant fastener and lowered his fly, letting his pants burst open where his grey striped boxers sprung into view. Sara’s hand darted forward and a curved palm flattened itself over his member, enticing his hardness with brutal accuracy. Michael’s back arched and he pulled away from her, afraid of spending himself in her hand while he shrugged his shirt from his body and gripped at her hips to swivel her sideways.

With a grin of anticipation Sara’s lips were wrenched from Michael’s and he grinned at her wickedly as he pushed her into the table beside them. Everything was happening so quickly and Sara’s body rocked with exhilaration from Michael’s forceful actions. As he leant over her shoulder to pinch the two candle flames out, Sara took the opportunity to nibble at his neck, encouraging him to return to her quickly. Michael’s eyes rolled back in his head, and a subtle grumble roared through his chest. He pulled back to her, leaning into her further as his tongue darted out and licked at her lips before her consumed her mouth in another fiery kiss.

With one smooth, almost practised action, Michael’s large paw gathered up the tablecloth behind Sara and he pulled it sideways with a grunt of effort. A mixture of breaking ceramics, clattering cutlery and the dull echoed of an empty wine glass hitting the tiled floor reverberated around the kitchen. Olive oil spat up the cupboards and herbs specked the white tiled floor. A gasp of enjoyment slipped from Sara’s lips as her body reacted to Michael’s hands on her hips, his muscles tightening and rippling under his tattooed skin as he lifted her off the floor and sat her on the table.

Sara’s legs spread apart and Michael positioned himself between them. Sara’s thighs squeezed at Michael’s, tightening the muscles to hold him close. She could feel his arousal pressed between her parted legs and as they kissed ferociously, rocking against each other, Sara’s lubricating juices soaked her panties. With a scraping motion Michael hook his entire hands under Sara’s waistline and pulled her pants down towards him, panties and all. A open mouthed smile crept across his lips as they parted, Sara’s eyes darting to watch his heavy hands pull her offending clothing all the way down her legs to leave them pooling on the floor.

Sara braced herself on the twisted muscles of Michael’s forearm as she shuffled herself forward to the edge of the table. Michael’s breathing was shaky as he reached into his boxers, pushing the warm cotton fabric over himself and freeing his erection. The tip of his member brushed Sara’s pregnant belly where they were so close and he pushed against her shoulders until she tore her lips from his and laid flat against the polished table.

“You want this?” Michael teased in a deep, velvety voice while he rubbed his agonisingly responsive end against Sara’s sopping entrance. Sara’s gasped, and she bit her bottom lips until the skin under her teeth turned white. She nodded with a moan of frustrated glee, her heels digging into Michael’s behind and urging him forward. Michael slid himself inside of her quickly, stopping once he had buried himself to his hilt and taking in the delectable look on Sara’s face.

“Like this?” he grinned down at her with a wicked smile. He pulled back out of her slowly causing Sara’s legs to tremble against his thighs and a guttural shuddering sound to escape her lips. Michael rested a hand to Sara’s shoulder and pulled her body to him once again, impaling her on his scorching erection. His pubic bone hit her hard, exciting her nerves and sending a jolt of impending release to her stomach.

“Yeah…like that,” Sara panted. Sara gripped at the edge of the table to steady herself as Michael drove into her, pulling out of her steaming hot centre with slow torture before skimming his blazing erection over her canal once again and hitting the entrance to her womb. Michael increased his pace, pounding into Sara with gritted teeth and raising onto his tiptoes to do so. His fingertips dug into her bare shoulder and his back arched with ever thrust, making sure she saw the distinction between what they did with tenderness and what they were doing now.

Without warning, Sara’s eyes flew open and she sat upright, clutching her stomach. Michael’s face went wide with fear and he pulled himself from her, staggering backwards a step. He was afraid to touch her, his hands hovering inches from her skin but never touching then. Sara screamed in pain, her eyes squeezed tightly shut and a hissing sound filling the room as she inhaled sharply through her clenched teeth.

“Sara what’s wrong?” Michael pleaded, his face confused and roaming her almost naked form for signs of injury. “Did I hurt you?” he urged, a pang of penitence striking his heart before she answered. Sara’s face turned a deep pink as she held her breath, her fingertips white as she pushed her hand into the skin of her abdomen.

“Get dressed…” she groaned, quickly exhaling before shifting her position and slipping from the edge of the table. Her feet hit the floor silently and she immediately doubled over from the shooting pains in her womb. Michael stared at her in shock, his skin flushing with prickly heat and his throat dry from where he had forgotten to swallow. Sara’s hand reached out and grabbed Michael’s roughly, her fingers gripping his at awkward angles as she began to sob. “…the baby,” she spluttered before finally breaking down a barrier and letting tears roll down her cheeks.

 


	7. March

“Michael, you don’t have to do that,” Sara smiled as Michael smoothed out the wrinkled fabric covering her feet. Following their recently scare and ruined kitchen, Sara had been given orders by her doctor for strict bed rest. That meant, as a result, Michael was home from work and by her side twenty four hours a day.

“But I want to,” Michael soothed, pushing the last wrinkle from the blanket and setting himself down beside her. He reached out a warm hand and laid it over the top of Sara’s between them. The morning was a strange one. Outside the sun was shining brightly, trying desperately to warm the March air that still held a biting chill, while it spattered with tiny clear raindrops. The clouds in the sky were sparse, only a few holding the transparent nectar that sat evenly upon the windows of the apartment.

“What a strange morning,” Sara commented, staring blankly out of the window. Michael smoothed his thumbs over her knuckles and her face swung back to his, their eyes meeting and immediately speaking volumes. Sara forced a smile and sighed heavily. “I hate this,” she told him, pounding a flattened palm into the bed beside her.

“I’m sorry,” Michael said with a false whine. He cupped her hand in his and gently lifted it to his lips where he planted a soft kiss to the back of it. Sara watched him, his eyes fluttering closed as their skins connected. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle and she smiled.

“It’s not your fault Michael…” she paused, taking in his crooked smile and raised eyebrow. “Ok, so maybe it was a little,” she chuckled, shifted herself in the bed so that she was laying sideways to him. Michael watched her and laid his fatherly touch over her abdomen, wanting to protect his son as much as he could.

“You helped,” he winked, lazily gliding his hand over the stretched material of his olive green t shirt Sara was wearing. “And besides,” he added merrily, his eyes shifted over her face as he spoke. “He’s fine,” Michael’s eyes darted to Sara’s stomach as it poked out from underneath the shirt. In one quick action he pressed his ear to the bump and cupped it with his large hands. “Aren’t you?” he asked it, immediately grinning wide when Sara’s hands found his head and held it there while she laughed.

There was no response from the bump for a second and then a dull poke to Michael’s temple made him flinch and pull his face away a few inches. Sara’s face lit up with joy when she felt their son kick, the first time since he had almost been born prematurely. As it turns out, Braxton Hicks contractions, or “false labour” can be induced with vigorous exercise and in the late second trimester can present painfully as if it were real labour. Unless Sara and Michael wanted their son born too early, the doctor had advised them against having sex for the next two months. Just over two weeks after the incident, both of them were feeling like that had been too long.

“Michael,” Sara breathed on a chuckle, unable to really say anything else. Michael was just that to her. Indescribable to the point where she could just say his name and get lost on the word as it escaped her lips on a smile. Michael removed himself from her swollen belly and Sara’s hands fell back to her sides. Her smile made Michael smile and he leant towards her face with a toothy grin for a taste of her lips.

Sara’s hand sprang back to life, reaching up cup Michael’s face as their lips connected, each exhaling with a laugh through their nose onto the others smile. Michael planted one hand on either side of Sara as she lay on the bed, his heavy form causing his wrists to sink below the blanket. With a content hum Michael pulled his lips from Sara’s and her eyes fluttered open to meet his ocean blue orbs. “Sara,” he breathed mockingly with a grin.

Sara’s mouth fell open in disbelief of his joke and her arm collided with his biceps as she struck him playfully. Michael flinched with a loud laugh as Sara glared at him, her face twisting as it tried to hide her smile. Michael’s eyes shone with mischief and he bit his teeth together in a wide grin. Both of their gazes dropped to the space between their bodies as Michael’s cell phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He shot Sara an apologetic glance and then stood, retrieved the sleek black device, and pressed it his ear.

“Hello?” he sang, flashing Sara another smile and a wink as she snuggled further into the blanket. Michael paced a few steps away from the bed, his feet falling silently on their bedroom carpet. He placed his free hand in his pocket as the voice on the other end of the call spoke back. “Lincoln, hi,” Michael greeted at the same time as telling Sara who it was with a point to his cell.

“Tonight…with you…” Michael relayed from his conversation to Sara. “I don’t know Linc, I mean…” Michael’s flow of words stopped as his brother argued against him on the other end of the phone. Michael rolled his eyes at Sara who hid a smile behind the edge of the blanket before beckoning him over with a waving hand.

“Come on Mikey,” Lincoln urged in a childish tone. “It’s only St. Patrick’s day once, right?” Michael fell silent listening to his words as his mind flickered between Sara and Lincoln. With a hefty sigh, Michael’s chest inflated and he exhaled audibly into the room. “Go on, ask Sara,” Lincoln ordered him firmly down the line.

Again Michael rolled his eyes and grinned at his brother’s request. Sara, having been able to hear the conversation now Michael was nearer, looked at him with an expectant expression, having already decided on her answer. Michael withdrew his hand from his pocket and smoothed his hand over his thigh whilst taking a seat on the bed once again. “Lincoln wants me to go out for beers. Tonight,” he added as Lincoln hung silent on the line.

“Sure. Go,” Sara nodded, slapping her hand to his and giving it a confident squeeze. Michael ignored Lincoln’s celebratory whooping down the phone and frowned at Sara, the worry evident across his face. “Go!” she ordered him with a giggle. “We’ll be fine, I promise,” she told him placing her hand to her pregnant abdomen.

“I don’t want to leave you here alone all night,” Michael admitted, knowing full well that he would end up drunk at Lincoln’s place where he would fall asleep on his couch and wake up in the morning stuck to a half eaten slice of pizza warmed only by his body heat. Lincoln’s protest in his ear was ignored as his eyes bore into Sara’s.

“It’s ok,” Sara offered softly. “We both know if you ended up staying here our son would be born tomorrow,” she told him with a twisted grin. Michael half laughed and half growled at her remark, understanding her entirely. It wouldn’t hurt him to be away from them for one night, he had hardly seen his family since they found out Sara was pregnant. Michael had an inbuilt ability to want to protect everything and everyone he came into contact with. Sara was no exception.

“Ok Linc,” Michael began, ending Lincoln’s rant about how they used to do this every year instantly. “Pick me up at eight,” he commanded before flipping his phone shut.

  
Neither Michael or Lincoln were Irish, they knew that as soon as they stepped into the dark, rowdy pub. The floor was an oak stained wood but lacked general cleanliness, probably never having been cleaned in a time frame that could be classed as “recent”. The ceiling was low, a structural implication that caused both men to duck under some roofing beams as they made their way to the bar. The soles of Michael’s boots, heavy treaded and slightly worn down one side, stuck to a dried patch of beer on the floor as he walked.

Lincoln slid onto a bar stool and Michael followed his lead, sliding onto the adjacent one whilst trying to avoid the puddle of spilt liquid on the bar before him. Lincoln and Michael had not bothered dressing up or even making themselves looks smart enough to go out. St. Patrick’s day celebrations were zealous and fiery, and the proof was in the millions of spilt beers scattered around the bar.

Lincoln flagged down the barman with a waggling finger as he rested one boot on the edge of the rickety wooden bar stool and let the other trail onto the floor. The barman approached with a slight limp and a grubby towel thrown over one shoulder. He had short, red hair that was accompanied by some gingery stubble that littered his jaw. His shirt was green and a clover motif was splattered across the centre that was stretched across his sunken beer gut.

“Yeah?” he asked Lincoln with a raise of his head as he leant forward and pulled a damp cloth through the puddle before Michael. Lincoln leant forward, the sound of violins and other traditional Irish culture filling the tiny pub.

“Two green beers,” Lincoln shouted gruffly, holding up two fingers that formed a v-shape on his hand. The barman took his order blankly, having served the same drink to almost everyone in the pub the entire night. He snatched two pint glasses from above his head and shoved them under a portable beer tap. The dark green liquid filled the angled glass slowly, a green froth lying on top of the liquid. He repeated the action with a second glass and then slammed them down on the bar in front of Lincoln.

Green froth rocked over the edge of the glass as Lincoln paid the man and the drink settled in its glassy tomb. Michael picked up his glass and took a gulp, enjoying the bitter taste on his tongue. Lincoln picked up his own glass and slapped Michael on the back as he sipped his own beer. Michael smiled against his glass at his brother as they drunk mindlessly, the whole evening paid for by Lincoln. “To the baby,” Lincoln held up his glass and toasted his nephew. Michael took another gulp of beer and smacked his lips together eagerly.

“To the baby,” he repeated and the entire pub around him cheered, raised their glasses and drank for his son.

Twelve beers and a very stumbled walk back to Lincoln’s place later, the two men were singing Irish folk songs at his door while he toyed with the key in the door. Lincoln repeatedly cursed each time he went to slide the brass key into the keyhole only to slam his hand straight into the nearby wall and drop his keys.

“Maybe we should knock,” Michael slurred, tilting his head back and staring blindly up at one light Lincoln had left on in his apartment. There was nobody home. LJ had gone to stay with a friend on his own admission and wouldn’t be back until morning. Nether the less, Michael was convinced someone else was home. He cupped his hands around his mouth to form a funnel and called up to the window. “Hello!” he hollered, causing a dog in a nearby yard to start barking.

“Shit!” Lincoln exclaimed before dropping to his knees and feeling blindly under a nearby bush. Michael swung his head to Lincoln as he called out but his eyes took a second to catch up with his head. He blinked a few times and tried to focus on his brother’s massive form on all fours before him.

“What?” Michael took a shaky step towards Lincoln and braced himself against a wall when he threatened to topple over. He peered over his brother’s shoulder, intrigued as to what was so interesting under the bush.

“I dropped my keys,” Lincoln told him, his words leaving his mouth in a shaky mess. His voice grew deep towards the end as he fought the urge to vomit back down his throat with a quick swallowing action. Michael burst out laughing and fell backwards against the brick wall next to Lincoln’s front door. His whole body shook as his deep laughter filled the air and the dog began barking again. He smoothed a hand over his face, wiping away some tears that had formed there as he had found the whole scenario hilarious.

“That’s a problem Linc,” Michael chortled from the doorway. Lincoln pushed himself to his feet wearily, holding his arms out to his sides as he tried to balance himself and stop from falling backwards off his top step. His boots hit the stone step with an echo as he charged his door, turning sideways so his shoulder was the first part of his body to collide with his wooden front door. With a dull thud and a rattling of chain, the door flew open and smashed into the wall behind it. The handle ploughed into the soft plaster wall and left its indentation as some of the wall crumbled from the newly formed hole.

Michael ceased laughing and watched his brother step gingerly into his apartment. Lincoln had one hand on his shoulder and rubbed at the stinging sensation lightly. He turned to face a gob smacked Michael whose glazy expression and swaying figure stood stunned on the doorstep. “Problem solved,” Lincoln rasped, his voice having been changed by the alcohol consumption and shouting he had been doing in the pub. Michael shot him a grin and followed him into the apartment.

Lincoln’s apart was beyond masculine. His floor was a dark stained wood and all his living room furniture was a blackened wood with either glass or a grey gritty marbled top. The kitchen was primarily silvers and the whole place was lit with low wattage bulbs suspended from the ceiling and encased in dark grey, cylindrical shades. The couch was black leather with dark wood edgings and feet and a messy pile of unopened mail lay on the table between it an a single leather armchair.

“So…” Lincoln began, staggering to the kitchen. His boots squeaked as they shuffled across the tiled floor and he reached for the large silvery fridge handle. Michael’s gaze met his as he pulled the door open and reached in. “Beer?” Lincoln grinned, producing two dark brown bottles from the door and pushing it closed.

Michael snorted as he laughed, falling down onto Lincoln’s couch with a nod and catching the bottle clumsily as it hit him in the belly. His muscled reacted with a spasm and he grunted when the cold glass hit his chest, dampening his shirt. Lincoln popped his beer cap with a clink and the metal top rolled across his glass topped coffee table in front of him. He fell backwards into the armchair across from Michael and the leather rubbed under his bulk. He threw Michael the bottle opener and took a swig of his beer.

“You know what?” Michael blurted suddenly, licking his lips when saliva spilled from his drunken mouth onto his lips. Lincoln shook his head; unable to answer when he pressed his beer to his lips. The shaking motion caused his beer to froth and because it was pressed to his lips, it built up pressure and then sprayed upwards onto his face.

Lincoln lurched forward, wiping his face as beer dripping onto his floor. Michael raised a heavy arm and pointed a finger towards him with a halfhearted smile. “Ha ha, you got beer up your nose,” Michael giggled foolishly, stating the obvious and seeing the hilarity magnified a million times more than he should have. Lincoln blew the beer from his nose and wiped his hand under his nose, flicking his hand sideways and expelling the liquid from his skin.

“No seriously,” Michael began, clicking his tongue and taking a large breathe with closed eyes. “I was going to propose you know,” he babbled, lifted his beer to his moist lips and took a swig without looking at Lincoln.

Lincoln snapped his head to Michael with raised eyebrows and dropped his beer from his pursed lips. “Seriously?” he garbled into the half empty bottle. Michael filled his mouth with more tangy liquid as he nodded.

“On Valentine’s,” he gulped, staring at his bottle with heavy lids as he twiddled it in his hand and watched the condensation slide down the side of the damp label. “But then…” a wicked smile crept across his lips as he recalled the evening and Lincoln chuckled in response. “…and then,” Michael finished with a sigh, his smile fading as he recalled how the evening ended with them at the hospital.

Lincoln pulled his lips from his beer bottle with an audible echo and leant forward to rest the brown object on the table before him. The two pieces of glass met with a clink and a squeaking noise escaped into the air when Lincoln pushed the empty bottle across the glass. “Do it,” Lincoln told his brother, lacing his fingers together in front of himself and resting his elbows on his knees.

Michael moved his head a little and frowned at him. “What’s to stop you?” he said to Michael as he pushed himself from his chair and sunk into the leather on the couch next to his brother. Michael’s body shifted when Lincoln’s pressed into the cushions next to him and he laid his throbbing head back onto the coolness of the leather and closed his eyes.

“I have to call Sara,” Michael spluttered and pushed himself up off the sofa quickly. His vision went black and he spun backwards, kicking the edge of the table with his heels. Lincoln lunged forward to catch Michael’s arm but the alcohol surging through his intoxicated body wreaked havoc on his depth perception and Michael fell backwards into his coffee table. The sound of shattering glass pierced the room and Michael cried out as his back made contact with the wooden framework on the table.

Stupidly he pressed his hand to the floor in order to right himself and sliced open his palm on some of the scattered shards. Michael’s face twisted as the sharp, hot pain travelled across his hand and he moved it closer to his face to study it better. Lincoln sat shocked, his hands flattened to his scalp as he contemplated his options. Michael moved awkwardly off of the table and tried to stand by himself, his boots slipping on the fragments of glass beneath his feet.

Lincoln bolted from the couch, suddenly a lot sober than he was five minutes ago, and grabbed his brother’s arm and threw it over his shoulder. Michael relaxed a little, letting Lincoln hold up his body weight as his entire body became heavy. He lifted his hand close to his face and squinted through drunken eyes as he inspected his wound.

“I’m bleeding,” he told Lincoln surprised, pushing his hand towards his face. Lincoln pulled his furrowed face away from his brother’s hand in disgust and proceeded to drag him away from the carnage. He dropped Michael to the hard wooden floor with a thud next to his kitchen counter and Michael’s body slumped back against it.

“I have to call Sara,” Michael repeated, only this time it was on a mumble. His hands fell numbly to either side of his body, his palm oozing with his crimson life source onto Lincoln’s floor, and his eyes flickered closed. His breathing was slow and heavy as his chin rested against his chest, his stubble catching on his shirt.

“No,” Lincoln stood back, rested a hand on his hip and rubbed the other over his scalp. He glanced between his broken coffee table and his broken brother passed out and bleeding against his breakfast counter. “I have to call Sara,” he admitted to himself, pacing across the floor to his phone.

A soft knock at Lincoln’s door made him jump to his feet and race to answer it. His hand was sweaty on the door handle as the metal met his hand and he twisted the handle, pulling the door free from its frame. A tired, dishevelled and heavily pregnant Sara stood with a small medical bang slung over her shoulder and her arms crossed over her chest, resting over her belly. “I’m not on bed rest Lincoln,” she scolded as she barged past him into the apartment. “Go and pay my cab fare,” she ordered him angrily, waving him away with a flick of her wrist like a naughty child.

Lincoln disappeared out of the apartment and the door clicked shut behind him. Sara rounded the kitchen counter and sighed when she saw Michael half sitting, half laying against the counter. She slid the bag down her arm and caught it with her tiny hand before it hit the flooring. Sara moved to kneel down beside Michael, her eyes darting between his bleeding hand and a small pool of spittle that had dribbled from his slightly open mouth and collected on his shirt.

Sara lifted the green Velcro flap on the medical bag and rummaged inside for an antiseptic foil sealed wipe and a pair of latex gloves. She found the gloves and pulled them over her hands awkwardly. Finding the wipe and a sterile gauze pad, crepe bandage and some surgical tape to fasten the dressing, she removed the items and laid them on the floor in a line. Sara tore across the top of the wipe first, removing the cold, wet, folded fibrous item and shaking it into a larger one. She gently took hold of Michael’s wrist and lifted his injured hand from the puddle of congealing blood.

Sara watched Michael’s face for a reaction as she pressed the wipe to his open wound. It was alcohol based and should have stung, but Michael registered no reaction as Sara wiped at the bloody mess across his palm. As the excess blood was cleared from his hand, Sara inspected the wound carefully, pulling apart the tiny square shaped holes to make sure there was no glass still inside of them. Content there was none, she rested his hand to her lap while she reached for her second implement, the sterile gauze.

Sara’s eyes caught the massacre across the room. Lincoln’s beautiful coffee table had been decimated. The thick glass top had been broken into a thousand pieces and littered the hard wooden floor and a puddle of bubbly liquid stained some of the glass brown. Sara imagined the scenario, the beer falling from Michael’s hand as he crashed into the table, unaware of his injuries until he would wake in the morning. “Oh Michael,” she pitied, turning to face his motionless body again.

Reclaiming his hand in hers, Sara pressed the sterile gauze to the sliced flesh and began wrapping his hand in the bandage. When she was happy with her dressing she fastened it with two strips of clear tape and laid Michael’s hand across his lap. She removed her gloves with an elastic snap and Sara’s eyes darted around where she sat until she spotted Lincoln’s kitchen towel hanging over the edge of the counter, draped in her direction. With a little effort she yanked it from its place and bundled it in her hands.

Sara shuffled her body forward across the floor, being careful to avoid the pool of drying blood and pressed her hip to Michael’s leg. Leaning forward slightly, Sara cupped Michael’s chin in one hand and lifted it from its position and dabbed the towel against his wet lips, wiping away the drool that was still there. Michael’s hand suddenly moved up to grip at Sara’s arm as best it could with a off white bandage wrapped around it, and his eyes fluttered open. Sara froze, the towel inches from his face as his dilated eyes met hers.

“Sara,” he croaked with a surprised frown. His voice was nothing more than a whisper because his throat was dry, and because his hang over loomed in his pounding forehead. Michael swallowed hard, the action scratching his throat a little more. His fingers trailed down Sara’s arm and plucked her hand from his face, rubbing her knuckles with his blood stained thumb. Sara’s eyes fell to their hands and she offered him a weak smile.

“Michael, this is the last time I…” Sara began, trying to sound irritated at four in the morning but being unable to because the man she loved was like a helpless child sprawled out across the floor, paralysed by over drinking and irresponsible behaviour. Michael cut her off and shocked her to silence.

“Marry me?” he queried on a breath, their eyes never parting for a second.

 


	8. April

“How about Fernando?” Michael teased, his face pressed against Sara’s as they lay in the tub with the water lapping around them. Sara’s bump protruded from the crystal clear water through some slightly pink bubbles that fizzled and dissolved slowly around them. Michael’s back was pressed the white porcelain and Sara was pressed to his chest. One of his damp arms lay across her bare chest and his hand drew lazy shapes on her shoulder.

Sara’s head rested on Michael’s shoulder, her damp hair forming loose curls as it spilled across his tattoo, shielding the Devil from their intimacy. The water rippled when Sara shifted, their skins brushing together in the watery abyss until she found a more comfortable position. Sara laughed lightly but the sound was drowned out when Michael’s deep voice vibrated through her body with his own laughter.

“As much as I love the man,” Sara began, referring to Michael’s Puerto Rican accomplice. “I am not naming my son after him.” She said flatly. Michael pouted and pressed his pursed lips to Sara’s neck, letting his lips linger on her wet skin with a content hum. Sara’s eyes fluttered closed and as she lifted her hand from the water to plant her soft fingertips to his shaved scalp, a torrent of water droplets dribbled down her arm.

“Our son,” Michael corrected her with a hot whisper that sent a shiver down her aching spine. The baby was due any day now and Sara had been feeling increasingly uncomfortable anywhere else except the bath. Having missed their usual acts of intimacy, on doctor’s orders, Michael had decided that tonight he would join her. Sara smiled at his words, full of pride and admiration for the new life they had created.

Michael’s hand slid down Sara’s smooth, slippery skin and rested against her stretched belly. He planted another kiss to her skin, this time to her temple as she caressed the back of his neck. “Seriously though Michael,” Sara told him with urgency. “We haven’t picked a name yet and he’ll be here any day.” Sara tilted her head to look up at him, the warmness around them splashing against the high sides bath. Michael dipped his head and caught her gaze, his mouth turning up into a warm smile.

“I mean it!” Sara exaggerated, her eyes widening and her teeth gleaming in the bright bathroom lighting. The room was predominately white, each and every surface tiled with small square tiles. In a random pattern sequence, there was a dark turquoise square every now and then, grouted into the wall. The floor was water resistant linoleum that displayed an off white tiled pattern but was laid across the floor like a carpet. All the fixtures were chrome with a small turquoise emblem on them that matched the wall tiles.

“Relax Sara,” Michael chuckled, smoothing his hand over her hip under the water. “He won’t be “Baby Scofield”. He’ll have a name,” he promised with a smile. Sara loved it when he smiled. He made her feel safe. “What?” he quirked when her staring intrigued him.

“Nothing,” Sara chimed secretively, lolling her head back to its original position where she faced the end of the bath. Her face suddenly contorted and a spasm rippled through her womb and a hissing noise escaped through her gritted teeth. Michael slid both his hands so they were resting on the bulging skin and rested his chin to Sara’s delicate shoulder.

“Baby moving again?” Michael asked, rubbing his fingertips gingerly across her milky skin. Sara nodded, her hair trailing in the tepid water and sticking to Michael’s skin. Her hands moved to cover Michael’s, her fingers digging casually between his and gripping at his palm. “How about Cole?” Michael suggested shortly after a large dip plopped into the bath from the faucet.

Sara pondered the name, listening to herself say it over in her mind. Her bottom lip stuck out, covering her top one slightly as she titled her head with a screwed up forehead. “Where did that one come from?” she enquired into the echoing bathroom. Michael shifted his body sideways and Sara slid across his body, her face turning to meet his blue gaze with a smile.

“I just like it,” he confessed with a grin. “It’s one of those names that you’d really like yourself and curse your parents for not giving you,” he laughed. Sara’s mouth twisted into a smile at his revelation. “What?” Michael repeated on a whine. “I dislike my name, ok?” he finished, turning his eyes from hers with mock ignorance. Sara shuddered against his chest as she halted a laugh from escaping her lips.

“I guess Michael as a middle name is out then,” she sighed falsely. “Too bad. I think he would of enjoyed being named after his father,” she smirked as Michael’s head swung back towards hers. Michael studied her face for second before gently reaching up to brush a stray hair from her eyes and tuck it behind her ear.

“Seriously?” he quizzed, his tone higher pitched with surprise. His heart swelled in his chest when Sara nodded her head sincerely. Michael’s eyes darted to Sara’s abdomen and back to hers while his warmed palm rested against her cheek. “Cole Michael Scofield,” he said aloud, testing the name of his tongue. “And you’ll be Mrs. Scofield soon,” he added with another grin, the same wide toothy kind he had given her when she had accepted his drunk proposal.

“It’s perfect,” Sara breathed on a smile. Michael caught her smile as if it were really infectious and awkwardly moved to press his lips against hers. Sara’s eyes flickered closed as they met, Michael’s lips brushing over hers with an elegant caress. A silence fell over the bathroom as the cooling water stopped frolicking in its porcelain confines and gently lapped at their bodies, pressed together but not moving in the deep water.

Sara pulled away first, a frown on her face and a hand darting out to cup under her abdomen. Michael’s eyes followed her actions, noting that she was uncomfortable for the third time that evening. “Are you ok?” Michael asked her softly as she winced, her eyes pressed closed and her entire body lurching forward in the bath. The water rocked and sloshed higher at the sides of the bath, threatening to jump the hurdle and pool on the tiled floor.

“I don’t know,” Sara growled under her breath, gripping at Michael’s thigh with one hand and her abdomen with the other. Michael pressed his body to her back, leaning over her shoulder to inspect the source of her pain. His tattooed arm sank under the now murky water once more and Michael laced his fingers between Sara’s, freeing his thigh from her hawk like grip.

Sara inhaled deeply, her eyes still closed and her eyelids twitching with the pain. It travelled through Sara’s body like a wave, ending in a quick pushing pain in her womb. Michael’s skin prickled to life, his mouth open but his breathing silent as he listening to Sara’s deep inhalations and long exhalations. He watched her face, feeling completely helpless when he saw her jaw clench with the pain and her eyebrows furrow each time it did.

“Is he coming?” Michael asked her impatiently when she barred her teeth on another contraction, digging her nails into his hand as she desperately gripped at it, scared to let go. Sara simply nodded as she breathed out, groaning her confirmation through her tensed body. Michael panicked, his skin flushing hot with adrenaline as he searched the bathroom for a towel. He spied one, its white fluffy fibres sitting invitingly on the nearby basin.

Michael heaved his dripping wet body from the tub and the absence of his form sent the water crashing to the other end of the bath like a tsunami. His bare feet slapped against the tiles as he stepped from the bath, ignoring the cool droplets that ran from his body and puddle at his feet. Michael hooked one hand under Sara’s elbow and encouraged her to stand and step from the bath. Sara braced herself with one hand on the white, creaking bathtub and pushed herself to her feet with a grunt.

“Careful,” Michael instructed as she set a shaky foot to the wet floor. “Don’t slip,” he prayed aloud as he desperately held her arm in one powerful grip and reached blindly for the towel behind him. Sara’s inhaled sharply when another contraction hit her, sending her body doubling over in pain. The pain was a mixture of short sharp stabs and a dull aching sensation as her muscles spasmed within her body cavity. Michael covered her body with the towel, patting her shoulders dry as he led her from the bathroom into their bedroom.

“Michael…” Sara cried through gritted teeth as she clutched at her stomach and shuffled across the floor. Her feet sunk silently into their bedroom carpet but her heels scuffed at the fibre, causing hot patches on her feet with each step. Michael stared into her eyes; the hazel orbs having turned bright with fear and her pupils having dilated from the surging hormones in her body. Sara was beyond scared, she was petrified and this time it was very real.

“I know,” Michael comforted pressing his hand to her lower back as he help her to squat on the edge of their bed. Turning quickly he pulled open a draw behind him, his wet hands slipping against the rounded wood handle. He pulled out a dark grey t-shirt and hurriedly threw it over his head and pushed his arms through the material roughly. Michael’s body was still wet and the cotton shirt clung to his skin, causing patches of black to form across his back and chest. With minimum effort, Michael rummaged through the other drawers and dressed himself quickly.

Michael’s eyes scanned the bedroom again and his eyes fell upon Sara’s hospital bag resting by the edge of the bed. He padded across the room and snatched it up, dropping it to the bed and his eyes flickering over it quickly as he scanned its contents for Sara’s gown. Sara’s sat rigid on the edge of the bed, her fingers white where they gripped at the edge of the mattress so hard. She inhaled and exhaled slowly in an even rhythm that she had been taught in her many birthing classes. In the distant locations of her inner mind Sara could hear Michael’s soothing words as he dressed her but she ultimately remained fixated on her pain control.

“Ok Sara,” Michael’s voice rang through her as he returned to the bedroom once more and wrapped her shoulders in an outdoor jacket. “It’s cold outside,” he informed her hurriedly and Sara lethargically pushed her arms into the sleeves. When her eyes opened Michael was standing before her, car keys in one hand and her hospital bag crossed over his chest, pressing the wet t-shirt to his skin even more.

Sara took his outstretched hand and he pulled her to her feet effortlessly but not without pain. Sara’s contractions were coming fast and without warning, causing her to pause every once in a while as they exited the apartment. It was almost dark outside and Sara leant against the recently painted cream wall next to the elevator doors.

“Come on!” Michael roared into the hallway at the silvery doors that stayed firmly closed. He paced the carpet in front of the doors nervously, tapping his car key to his thumb as he waiting for what seemed like forever for the tell tale chime of the arriving elevator. Fifteen agonising minutes later Sara was seated in the front of the car and Michael was helping her to buckle her seat belt across her bump.

“Don’t speed,” she warmed Michael as the engine sprung to life. Michael stopped, both hands gripping at the steering wheel, and looked at her questioningly. Sara’s eyes fluttered open to meet his briefly before they squeezed tight with another contraction. “Just, don’t,” she pushed out through a clenched jaw. “He’s not here yet,” she told Michael on a breath, her hand gripping at the door handle while the other rested on Michael’s thigh, seeking comfort and stability.

A nurse waited on the curb with a wheelchair when they approached. She was short, probably just graduated and had rosy cheeks and light orange hair tied back into a loose, unflattering ponytail. Michael had phoned ahead and they were expecting Sara in the maternity ward where a midwife would check the baby, Sara and predict a time of arrival. Like a robot, Sara kept her breathing unaltered, only changing it each time a contraction rippled through her body.

Michael parked the car right next to the entrance and his boots pounded the pavement as he ran around the front of the heated engine to open Sara’s door. Sara’s limbs felt heavy as she swung them onto the ground, and the nurse and Michael both helped her out of the car and into the wheelchair. The April evening was cold and damp, the grey blue clouds hovering overheard, teasing the city with the peril of rain.

They all took the elevator to the fourth floor where the maternity ward was. It smelt like disinfectant and baby sick, and the halls bustled with a rush of white coats, blue scrub coats and clipboards littered every doorway. Sparing no expensive for his son, Michael had pre booked a private room for Sara and when she was wheeled in a tall doctor was waiting. She had dark brown hair that was cut short and swept across her face, piercing green eyes that were nothing but welcoming and she looked the picture of professionalism in a knee length black skirt and matching blouse.

“Hi Sara, I’m Dr. Alexandra Emery,” she spoke loudly as she approached them, her voice penetrating Sara’s concentration and catching her attention. Sara’s frown fell upon her as she extended her slender hand to Michael. “You must be Dad,” she smiled at him warmly, shaking his hand. Michael nodded nervously and quickly returned his gaze to Sara as two nurses helped her onto the bed.

“I want to push…” Sara stuttered through gritted teeth as she shed her jacket and lay back on the bed, sinking into the plump hospital pillows and ignoring the doctor’s greeting totally. Sara lifted her shaking hand and pushed her hair from her face. She had begun to sweat from the hospital’s heating and her head lolled towards Michael standing beside her when, relieved they had arrived on time, she let a tear escape her eyes.

“Don’t push yet,” Dr. Emery told her firmly, plucking a pair of latex gloves from a grey and pink box that sat next to the bed. “I just need to check your cervix to see how ready you are, ok Sara?” she asked, the gloves rubbing against each other as she arranged her fingertips in them properly. The two nurses, almost working within a mirror image of each other, draped the sheets over Sara’s bent knees and strapped a heart monitor to Sara’s belly. A rapid thumping filled the room when it detected the baby’s heartbeat and green digital numbers clocked its beat per minute, printing the findings onto a long sheet of paper.

“Hey,” Michael soothed, reaching out his own shaking hand and brushing Sara’s tears from her cheek with his thumb. His other hand held hers tightly and the bundle of fingers rested on the crisp, neatly tucked in bed sheets between them. “You’re ok,” Michael told her, gulping a lump of burning tears down his throat as he tried to be the strong one.

“I’m scared,” Sara admitted, her breath hitching in the back of her mouth and her vision blurring with tears. Michael rubbed his hand over hers, frozen by her words. He busied himself with tucking a few tendrils of her auburn hair behind her ears and stroking the top of her head tenderly. “I can’t do this,” Sara told him with a trembling voice and a shake of her head.

“Yes you can,” Michael moved to tell her but was cut off with her petrified babble.

“I’m not ready,” she cried, her chest heaving and her body shuddering as she sobbed. Michael pushed himself up from his stool and it slid backwards with a creaking across the generic tiled floor. He combed her hair from her sweaty brow with his large hands and leant forward to plant a kiss to her temple. Sara’s lips quivered and her eyes pressed close, releasing another hot tear and sending it falling to its final resting place on her gown. Michael pulled his lips from her skin and rested his forehead to hers. Sara opened her watery hazel eyes and met Michael’s azure stare.

“Yes you are,” Michael whispered to her, never breaking eye contact as he tenderly appeased her.

“Ok Sara,” the doctor suddenly said, disturbing their display of devotion at the other end of the bed. Sara tore her eyes from Michael and they both turned to see her peaking out from over the top of the white sheet dressed in operating scrubs. They were pink on the maternity ward and had matching facemasks that looped behind the ears and prevented the spread of disease. “When you feel a contraction, I want you to hold you’re breath and push for me,” she told Sara with bright eyes and a nod.

Sara nodded back, her entire body tensing in anticipation of the next wave of pain.


	9. May

Everything before Sara’s eyes was happening in slow motion, a torrent of washed out images flashing before her eyes. Michael’s eyes shone bright, reflecting his soul into the world as they squinted against the sunshine. He chest puffed out proudly with every breathe, his eyes fixated on a small black haired boy in front of him as he tried to catch him. The child slapped his tiny feet against the springy tarmac as he eluded his father, elated hazel eyes sparkling in the mid day sunshine. Michael’s arm swished out to catch the boy, his hearty laughter echoing in Sara’s ears. With fatal footing, the boy slipped and tumbled onto his knees and palms, his smile fading and his cries filling Sara’s subconscious.

Sara’s eyes peeled open into the darkness, the only light she saw spreading across her face from the digital clock next to her bed. A tiny green light flickered to life next to her on a baby monitor, Cole’s gargling screams flowing from the speaker, piercing her ears and causing her to sigh with frustration. Sara had ignored the time; it didn’t matter anymore. Her days and nights were as one now she was a mother, taking care of the tiny life she had carried for nine months.

Sara slapped her hand to her forehead, blinking her eyes wide in the darkness as she rolled from her side onto her back. The bed beside her was barely warm and the blanket lacked its usual supported gap between bodies. Instead it was scrunched against her body and the space where Michael’s body once slept was filled with the rippled cotton of the sheets. Sara sat herself up, the baby’s quivering cries urging her maternal instincts to life. Her flat palm sat on the sheet beside her as she braced herself to leave her warm bed but she was stopped when Michael’s voice drizzled into the room.

At first Sara though he might have been in the room with her, maybe just having left bed to stretch his legs or to get a drink in the kitchen. Michael had gone back to work; his short lived paternity leave having ended last week. As Sara listened, her eyes adjusting to the darkness, she realised he wasn’t with her and her eyes focused on the dancing green LED lights on the baby monitor.

“It’s ok,” Michael cooed, getting louder as he walked closer to the monitor set next to Cole’s crib in the next room. By day the nursery was decked with baby blue walls, a thick powder blue line edging the entire room and painted stimuli etched onto the border. Numbers, letters and the baby’s name adorned the blue line as it lay around the centre of the room. In the darkness, the spongy laminate flooring was the only welcoming thing about it, heated accordingly beneath Michael’s bare feet.

Sara scooted closer to the monitor on the bedside table and stared blankly at a patch of darkness in their bedroom as she listened to Michael and the baby. “It’s ok Cole, daddy’s here,” Michael whispered warmly, his voice loudest at this point as he reached into the high sided crib and slid his large hands under his son. Sara heard Cole’s lip quiver with one last attempt at a newborn cry as Michael held the tot to his bare chest for a swift hug.

Creaks of wicker scuttled down the one-way receiver next to Sara when she heard Michael ease himself and a snivelling Cole into the crib side chair. Michael’s voice was gone, the entire connection silent until Sara picked up the soft sucking noises of Cole taking his 2AM feed. “There you go,” Michael told the tot, his voice crackling slightly over the monitor. “All that crying made you hungry, huh?” Sara smiled to herself, the paternal bond between Michael and Cole amazing her to no end. Despite the fact Michael had to be at work in less than six hours, not a hint of resentment had been detected on his voice.

Sara propped herself up on her elbow on the edge of the bed, her bony point digging into the soft mattress silently. A smile spread over her features as she listened intently to the content sucking of Cole accompanied by a tiny squeak on each gulp. “Daddy had to go warm the milk,” Michael he breathed at the baby cradled in his arms, eyes flickering closed as he drank the milk hungrily. Two small echoing gulps later, the gargling sound of milk flowing backwards into the bottle told Sara Cole had fallen asleep and his tongue had relaxed over the teat.

Another creak was sent down the monitor, the green lights flashing with the change in pitch. Sara couldn’t hide her grin when she heard the soft dull thumping of a chest cavity followed by Michael humming to his son. Michael’s voice was deep and flowed from the speaker like the crashing of the ocean at midnight as he patted his son’s back gently. Cole let out a creaky moan, his eyes still closed and his bottom lip hanging from his top one, totally relaxed by his full milk belly.

“You know your mother makes that noise when she sleeps,” Michael whispered to the baby in his arms before two tiny burps escaped from Cole’s lips, his body hunching slightly as he reclaimed his sleeping posture. A tiny hushed scrap of laughter echoed through the monitor and Sara let out her own breathy chuckle. “Maybe not that one,” Michael told Cole on a breath. Content the baby had been winded enough, the wicker chair squeaked as Michael stood and replaced the tot in his crib.

A miniscule groan came across the monitor as Cole hit the luxury soft sheets, a heavy sigh swishing through the electrical device as he did. Sara collapsed her arm, falling back against the dark blue sheets of their bed when she heard the latch to the nursery open and close behind Michael’s exit. The smile fell from her face and her eyes fell closed as light from the hall spilled over her features before it disappeared with a click of a switch. Michael padded on his toes back to his side of the bed and slid under the covers silently, his body relaxing with a yawn when he pressed himself to Sara’s back. His face was millimetres from her vanilla scented hair and he hung his arm loosely over her hip.

“Thank you,” Sara grumbled into the pillow, her exhausted body welcoming the feel of his protective body pressed to hers. Michael smiled, his eyes closed. He moved his hand up her hip where it trailed up the side of her body and then ran back down again, warming Sara’s skin.

“You’re welcome,” he whispered, his breath causing her hair to twitch slightly from where it was spilled across the pillow.

When Sara woke it was daybreak, the burning orange glow of the sunrise illuminating the sky as it peaked over the horizon. The bedroom had been transformed into a mixture of oranges and reds by the spectre and the tiniest traces of dust danced in the beams that peeked into the balcony doors. Sara inhaled groggily as she rolled over only to find herself, once again, occupying the vast softness of their bed alone.

The baby monitor beside her head was silent. Only the smallest crackle of connection between the two rooms came from the speaker and the green LED remained a single dot of light, unchanged by silence. Sara frowned and sat up quickly, her messy hair falling forward onto her face. Reaching up a hand weakened by sleep, she combed her fingers through her auburn knots, flattening out the kinks that had formed there.

May was a difficult time of year for Sara, for many reasons. In the past it meant the inevitable arrival of an expensive bouquet of multicoloured flowers delivered to her place of work, always with a small note of Happy Birthday wishes from her father. Since his death, May had been a time for Sara to miss him and his meaningless flora. She regretted each and every day that she had spent away from him, hating herself for letting their relationship falter. Frank Tancredi had been a highly successful politician, loved and respected by most of Chicago, but above all, Frank Tancredi had been Sara’s father. She had let herself forget that.

Sara’s toes curled under the blanket, reluctant to poke out into the coolness of the room. When they did, the floor met her bare soles and her toes tapped against the spongy floor while she lengthened her arms above her head and yawned deeply. A few drops of salty water dripped from her tired eyes as she yawned and she quickly wiped them away with her fingers.

Sara pushed herself from their bed and struggled to lift her heavy feet across the floor as she made her way to the door. Her black panties poked out from under the hem of Michael’s shirt she was wearing, the sky blue cotton moving softly against her skin as she walked. The long sleeves were buttoned but the cuffs fell over her hands, her delicate fingertips barely exposed and gripping at the edge of the material. The bedroom door was ajar, not fully latched in its doorframe and Sara pulled it open silently.

Stepping into the light cream hall, Sara glanced towards the baby’s room with a puzzled pout. Her eyebrows pulled together and she titled her head slightly when she tiptoed towards the bedroom, finding that door open ajar too. Sara’s heart pounded in her chest as she pushed the door to the nursery open and found the silent that met her eerie and disconcerting. Leaning her mass around the doorframe, Sara’s eyes peeled around the room, taking in the brightly coloured walls and how they shone more vibrantly in the dawn. With a twisted pout, she retracted herself from the room and padded in the opposite direction towards the lounge.

Sara’s feet shuffled against the floor making small, light scuffing noises with every step. She pulled her hand along the wall absently and her face lit up with a broad grin when she spied Michael standing in the centre of the room. He was dressed for work, his dark grey long sleeved shirt covering all of his tattoos was buttons to the collar but his tie hung loose around his neck, having yet to be adjusted for the day. His dull chrome belt buckle sat remarkably evenly, covering the button to his pressed pants and holding in the edges of his tucked in shirt.

In his arms was Cole, their son, resting half awake in a white pure cotton short-sleeved t-shirt and dark blue cargo pants. His tiny light blue socks had a dark blue elasticated rim and toecaps, and a playing puppy was sewn into the side of each sock. Michael bounced the baby slowly in his arms as he smiled back at Sara, his ocean blue orbs glinting in the sun as it rose outside. Michael re-arranged the infant in his arms so he was flat to Michael’s chest, supported by his father’s powerful hand between his legs. Cole’s eyes were blinking slowly and his face contorted into a confused expression, his eyebrows twitching as his eyes darted around the room.

“Happy Birthday,” Michael’s velvety voice smoothed over the air between them as he took steps towards her. Sara moved towards the two men in her life and pressed her smile to Michael’s briefly before pulling away and plucking the babe from Michael’s arms. Still smiling, Michael gave up Cole to his mother and stroked at the boy’s back when Sara rested him to her shoulder with the bouncing motion he enjoyed so much. Cole jerkily lifted his face from the fabric of her shirt and rested it sideways, his tiny mouth puckering against her neck.

When Sara’s eyes left Cole’s and met Michael’s again they had turned dark with passion and his smile had crooked into a wicked grin. Both of his hands were behind his back and his head was lowered slightly. Sara shot him a puzzled grin and smoothed the shirt over Cole’s back while his tiny fingers gripped at the collar on her shirt. Michael pulled one his hands out from behind his back and produced a red rose, crafted entirely of origami, complete with a green paper stem. He twiddled it in his fingers and offered Sara the rose with a bow of his head and wink.

“You look good in my shirt,” Michael quipped as she took the rose and pressed the paper to below her nose. Her eyes fell closed as she inhaled the sweet scent to of the fragranced paper Michael had used to sculpt his gift, noting its fresh smell as if it were a real rose. It was in fact better than a real rose. It would never need watering and would never wilt. It would last forever, the folded equivalent of their love.

“Thank you,” Sara smiled and received another lingering kiss with earnest. Michael’s mouth was sweet and his taste was left on Sara’s lips when he pulled away from her and pressed his mouth to Cole’s soft, delicate forehead. He smoothed a massive paw over the thin black hairs that layered his son’s head unevenly and smiled.

“After work, we can talk about a proper birthday gift,” he promised with a wink as he backed towards the door, grabbing his jacket from the back of a counter stool and shrugging it onto his shoulders. Sara’s face erupted with joy, her lips twitching as she tried to hide her grin.

“No sex for two more weeks remember,” Sara reminded Michael through her beaming smile, arranging the wiggling infant in her arms. Michael pulled the front door open and paused, shooting her a surprised and almost insulted glance.

“It’s all about the sex with you, isn’t it?” he teased. Sara laughed at his words and shook her head with raised eyebrows. Michael pulled his arm up and pressed his lips to the end of his fingertips, letting them linger on his skin before throwing his arm out into the room towards Sara and Cole. With another smile he was gone.


	10. June

Cole kicked his feet, the silky soft chubby skin patting against the plastic of the changing mat playfully. Michael’s face twisted and he frowned when Cole’s foot slipped from his grasp, making a low grumble noise in his throat. Cole’s pulled his feet up and pushed them out hurriedly, a frustrated puffing noise escaping his tiny chest as he expressed the air from his lungs.

“You have to wear socks to uncle Linc’s,” Michael told Cole in a light tone, his deep echoing voice higher in pitch than normal. The baby squirmed and chewed on a balled fist with his gums, his dark little eyebrows rising on his face when he moaned against his hand. Michael smiled at his antics. “Yes you do!” he mocked; baby talk blurting from his grin as he slid Cole’s foot into the offending sock.

The baby boy pulled his soggy hand from his mouth and shook it in the air. Clear, frothy spittle dribbled from his chin and ran down his smooth neck to pool on the tiniest patch of bare chest he had exposed. Michael sighed and dropped his flat palms to his bent knees with a slapping noise against the taught material of his jeans. His feet were tucked under him, his sneakers pressed against the spongy laminate flooring where his ankles creaked when he moved.

Michael picked up Cole’s nearby towel, a tiny clown motif etched onto the bottom next to his name in fancy blue italics. He pressed the fabric to Cole’s skin, dabbing up the thick moisture and then wiped up his chin and around his gargling mouth. Cole opened his mouth wide when his father brushed the towel past his lips, eager taste the object in his mouth.

“You can’t eat that silly,” Michael giggled, pulling the towel away from him once more and rubbing his large hand over his son’s tiny cotton clad belly. Cole had been dressed for his overnight stay with Lincoln in some miniature black pants and two layered long sleeved t-shirt. The top layer was white with and orange print of a small lion cub on I and the sleeves were a burnt orange colour. Michael slid his hands under Cole and with an exaggerated sigh of effort, lifted him from the white mat.

The baby lifted his head shakily when Michael laid him against his shoulder with a large hand pressed to his back and his tattooed arm resting under his behind. Cole’s diaper rustled as Michael held him and he pushed himself to his feet with a grunt and making his way to the nearby kitchen counter. Resting on the white tiled surface as a navy blue zip up shoulder bag with a plastic white lining. Cole’s overnight bag had been fully stocked with diapers, spare clothes, pre prepared milk formula and some of Sara’s breast milk in clearly labelled bottles.

“Did we forget anything?” Michael asked Cole, turning his tiny tired body to face the bag. His bottom lip stuck out and his penetrating eyes blinked in the bright kitchen lighting that spilled over the reflective tiles. Michael shifted the babe in his arms once again, holding his weightless body above the bag so he could see into his eyes. Cole’s eyes focused on his father slowly and Michael frowned a little, cocking his head to the side. “Huh,” he exclaimed, turning and walking towards their bedroom with Cole dangling from his powerful grip.

With two tiny taps on the en suites bathroom door, Michael caught Sara’s attention. Her hair flicked water onto the shower door when she spun around, the balls of her feet pressing against the circular ridges on the shower floor. When the bathroom door did not open immediately, Sara pressed her hand to the condensation on the glass door and wiped it side to wide, exposing the bathroom to her view.

“Sara?” Michael called, rapping on the wood lightly once more. Air was sucked into the cubicle when Sara pushed it open, the glass rattling in the frame when the magnet holding it closed was pushed from the frame. She stepped out onto the tiled floor, water dripping from her body and a rush of steam following her into the cooler room. Sara grabbed a fluffy white towel from the chrome rail opposite the shower and wrapped it around her body quickly.

“What? What’s wrong?” Sara asked flurried. The door had been wrenched open hard and Sara’s stood with her hand rested on the chrome knob. Her eyes were wide and her breath panicked as her eyes darted over her baby boy, pressed lovingly to his father’s chest. Her hair was darkened by the shower and stuck to her bare shoulders, tiny wisps of steam escaping from the fibres.

“Check this out,” Michael smiled, immediately calming her hypersensitivity. Michael held Cole up so that his face was in line with Sara’s and he shuffled his body around so he was pressed against the doorframe. He dipped his head low and wiggled his fingers under his son’s armpits, tickling the small boy awake. Cole’s mouth grew crooked and a minute groan left his mouth when his eyes fluttered open. “You see that?” Michael prodded, fascinated by what he was seeing.

Sara squinted, pressing her face closer to Cole. “He has two different coloured eyes,” she stated surprised, blinking a few times to refocus her eyes. As his eyes blinked open wide, Sara clearly made out the distinction. One of Cole’s eyes was a grey blue, just like his father’s, while the second was a mixture of hues, predominantly hazel with some blue flecking. A smile beamed across Michael’s features as he nodded. “Wow,” Sara said, her mouth hanging ajar with shock.

“That’s’ cool,” Michael laughed, reclaiming his son in his arms and taking his smooth hand in his. Sara looked at Michael for a second before a smile burst across her own face and she rubbed a wrinkled fingertip down Cole’s arm. The steam stopped evaporating from Sara’s hair and skin and the hairs all over her body prickled from the cold.

“You should get him to Lincoln’s,” Sara told Michael, dipping her head to press and soft kiss to Cole’s forehead. The baby shifted, agitated by the sudden interruption from his slumber. Michael caught her lips as they flew past his face, leaning awkwardly into the bathroom over his son.

“You’re right,” Michael glanced at the watch on his wrist, after letting his lips leave hers. “I’ll try not to be long,” he promised. Sara gave him a sweet smile before gently cupping his face in her warmed hands and pressing her lips to his softly. Their lips barely brushed but Michael’s skin came to life, buzzing with the electricity from Sara’s touch. Sara pulled their faces apart and Michael’s eyes flickered open as he inhaled hard through gritted teeth.

Sara’s quirked brow accompanied her wicked grin as she slid back into the bathroom to finish her shower. Michael laughed to himself, a chuckle of premature contention for what was to come of the evening. “I’ll definitely be as quick as I can,” he called through the door while he moved around to his side of the bed silently. Michael crouched down, Cole clutched to his dark blue t-shirt while he fished under the end of the cascading sheet.

Michael pulled a long, square red box from under the bed and flopped the weightless gift to the bed sheets. With a final smirk and a glance at the bathroom where the sound of running water had resumed, Michael made his way to Lincoln’s.

“And the bottles are labelled,” Michael blurted back at Lincoln as he made his way back don the concrete steps of his apartment. Lincoln smiled and made a face at his nephew. “Oh,” Michael turned quickly again, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed in thought. “He has a teddy in the bag and he likes it when…”

“Michael,” Lincoln cut him off and Michael’s face met his, frozen mid sentence. “We’ll be fine,” he comforted with a smile. “I’ve been here before, remember?” Lincoln smirked as LJ shuffled past behind him waving a lazy hand over his father’s head to his uncle at the bottom of the steps. Michael sighed a relieved breath and his body ached to be home.

Lincoln winked and nodded towards Michael’s car that was parked on the street outside his apartment. The light silver sedan was executive, with a fine leather interior and wood effect panelling. On the rear seat was two oblong shaped indents where Cole’s car seat had sat before it made it’s way to Lincoln’s heavy hands. Michael slammed his car door shut and inhaled hard, the prospect of finding Sara in his gift when he got home too tempting to pass up on a daydream. He gripped at the wheel nervously, like a virginal schoolboy about to pick up his date before turning the key in the ignition and heading home.

The apartment was as Michael had left it. There was absolutely no signs that Sara had left the bedroom since he left, which he concluded to be a good sign she had found her gift. Michael’s keys jingled in his hand while his eyes scanned the room. It was unchanged, the white plastic changing mat still sitting on the wooden flooring by the coffee table and only the faint buzz from the refrigerator filling the air.

Michael rested his keys to the counter, shooting a glance down the hall towards their bedroom door that was open a crack. No movement came from the open door that hung invitingly on its frame, teasing Michael with the prospect of what was inside. He knelt and untied his sneakers, pulling them off roughly and leaving them in a crooked heap by the door. His two socks soon followed, finding their way into the empty washing machine with a click from the door as it opened. The tiniest traces of vanilla scented the air and Michael felt his heart pounding in his chest, the anticipation of breaking their celibacy explosive.

“So…” Sara’s beautifully seductive voice echoed through the silence making Michael stand bolt upright and spin on his heels to face her at the kitchen entrance. He inhaled hard and fast, her image before him even more spectacular then he had imagined taking his breath from him. She had found his gift, a vibrant red sheer robe that was rimmed with black silk and hid nothing from his hungry gaze.

Sara toyed with the shiny black tie, pulling at the knot and letting the garment fall open to his roaming eyes. “Is this my birthday…” Sara purred taking two long legged strides towards him, her smooth, milky legs sliding against each other as she stalked him. Michael’s entire body shook and he gulped hard, his mouth falling open and his chest heaving with shallow pants. Sara pushed her shoulders back as she walked and the transparent robe fell to the floor without a sound.

Underneath Sara wore a red lace bra that embellished her cleavage and a matching g-string that gripped at her unblemished skin. As she swayed towards him, Sara scrapped a hand across the top of her bosom and Michael followed her hand with wide, expectant eyes. He was frozen to the spot, his bare feet sweating on the linoleum floor and his hands itching at his sides. Sara reached him and their eyes met, combustion of passion and excitement lighting both sets of orbs. Sara pressed a soft, flat palm to Michael’s chest and he gasped at the contact, adrenaline surging through his being and his straining erection pressing into his boxers uncomfortably.

Sara offered him a coy smile and titled her head so their lips were millimetres apart Michael’s breath brushed her lips and Sara licked her lips nervously before she spoke. “…or is this yours?” she whispered, her eyes flickering between Michael’s darkened blue hues and his poised lips. Michael moved his shaking hand to skim the electrifying skin of Sara’s lower back while his eyes darted to her rosy nipples that peaked under the revealing lace.

“I have to stop buying you stuff like this,” Michael chuckled to himself while his other hand found Sara’s face and brushed some slightly loose curls behind her ear. Sara gave him a quizzical look, her mouth twisting into a crooked smile and the soft skin behind her ears sparking to life under Michael’s touch. The feel of his hand on the sensitive area sent a ripple of want through her and her nipples tightened against the lace bra.

“Why?” She breathed while her hands tugged at the cotton t-shirt that kept Michael’s artistic skin from her view. Sara slid her hands underneath it and smoothed her fingertips over Michael’s chest, watching with joy when Michael’s eyes fluttered closed and his jaw clenched.

“Because…” Michael choked out in a deep, velvety voice full of desperation. He took a step back from her and ripped his shirt over his head, letting it fall to the floor beside them. “…when you do stuff like this…” Michael reclaimed his space before her and Sara snaked her hands behind his head, pressing herself to his skin and tickling at the soft hair on the base of his neck.

“Like this?” She breathed against his ear, her hot sigh leaving his ear moist and shivery. Michael’s jaw line tensed when she pressed her lips to his ear lobe and proceeded to plant her sweet kisses along his jaw. Michael’s head tipped backwards and Sara smiled against his clean-shaven skin.

“Yes, like that,” Michael hissed when her lips moved down his neck and sucked at the tattoo that threatened to dissolve from his sizzling skin. Sara halted, pulling her lips from Michael’s skin and their eyes met again. Sara gave him a wicked smile as he gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing upwards in his throat. “What was I saying?” Michael teased with a smirk.

“You have to stop buying me stuff like this,” Sara prompted, trailing her slightly curled fingers over her bosom and exciting her hardened nipples even more. The rosy flesh ached against its lacy prison, yearning to me free and under Michael’s assault.

“Yeah,” Michael said with realisation, never taking his eyes from her busy hand on her crowded bra. “It’s expensive to replace when I tear it from your hot, naked body,” he growled, his almost blackened eyes meeting hers half open with infatuation as he stepped forward and backed Sara into the refrigerator door. Sara gasped when the cool painted metallic surface hit her searing skin but it was captured by Michael’s mouth when his barrier of self-control broke and he needed to taste her.

Sara’s hands gripped at Michael’s face, never letting it leave hers as their mouths devoured each other. Michael’s tongue darted from his mouth and licked along Sara’s lips, enticing them to part and let it in. At almost the same time, Sara’s eager tongue darted out of her hot mouth and inched its way into Michael’s mouth, flicking over every surface and ridge. Michael tasted divine and the kiss was full of urgency like they had not touched each other for so long.

Michael trailed his hands down the smooth skin of Sara’s sides and gripped his powerful hands into her sculpted behind. Sara wrenched her mouth from Michael’s and panted hard as she gripped at his shoulders and laid her forehead against his. With a grunt of exertion, Michael lifted Sara off the floor and she wrapped her thighs tightly around his waist, locking her feet together with a giggle of exhilaration. The refrigerator wobbled under their weight pressed against it and a quick smile graced Michael’s face before he recaptured her lips with his.

Sara’s hands slid down Michael’s indigo stained chest and met his jeans, her delicate fingers popping the button through its hole with ease. As her hands brushed his crotch, Michael shuddered, the tiniest contact through two layers of fabric hardening his member even further. Michael’s hands slid up behind Sara’s back and pulled her from the fridge. Her hair bobbed on her shoulders and Michael’s nimble fingers quickly snapped open her bra and freed her tender breasts.

With uneven steps Michael walked them from the kitchen, his muscular biceps rippling and tensing from carrying Sara. Her lips left his mouth and kissed their way down his throat, his concentration severely compromised as he tried to focus on his goal; their bedroom. Sara wiggled from the red lacy material hanging loose on her arms and discarded it to the floor as they walked.

Michael’s bare foot connected with their bedroom door and it flew open, springing shut behind them when he hurried them through the door. Michael’s jeans constricted across his member and the sensations caused by walking were getting increasingly painful. Unexpectedly he dropped to his knees a few feet from the bed and fell forward on top of Sara who let out a small scream.

“Are you ok?” Michael asked through pants, his hands busily brushing the dishevelled auburn locks from Sara’s face exposing a grin. Her half closed eyes met his and she smiled and rested a feathery grip to his bulging bicep that propped up his weight.

“This is new,” she giggled, stroking lazy shapes on his patterned skin and trailing her warm hands down to his open jeans. Sliding a hand inside she brushed his straining erection briefly before Michael’s hand darted out to stop her with a trembling distain. Michael let out a laugh, blowing air onto Sara’s shoulder when he dipped his blushing face to her naked skin.

Michael lifted his head and met her eyes once more, their collective laughter vibrating through both of them. “You’re not suddenly scared of me are you?” Sara joked, rolling her head backwards so she could see their goal, the bed, so close yet so far.

Michael followed her gaze. She was right, the bed was so close but he didn’t think he could make it one more step. “Sara, we haven’t had sex for…” he paused, his features contorting with thought.

“Eight weeks,” Sara told him and he shot her a glance of astonishment.

“Wow, eight weeks? Really?” he laughed and Sara laughed with him. “It’s just…” Michael began and his cheeks flushed with red once again. “I can’t get to the bed without…” Michael glanced down between their bodies, his eyes lingering on her pert breast and flattened stomach. Sara’s eyes followed his and rested on his slightly open jeans that he was arched away from in discomfort. “…you know,” he told her on a sigh, his hand raising her wrist above her head and leaving it there.

Sara bit her bottom lip and cupped Michael’s face in her free hand. Michael’s eyes were shaken to meet her and he gulped, the excessive salivation he had acquired whilst taking in her half naked form disappearing down his throat. “Then we’ll have to do it here,” she whispered suggestively. “Take off your clothes,” she instructed him quietly, her voice barely above a murmur.

Michael sprang to his feet and shook as he unzipped his fly with gritted teeth and pushed his jeans and boxers down his quaking legs where he steps from them and kicked them sideways. Sara watched his hasty disrobing with glee, her legs twitching and her feet tracing up and down her legs where she writhed on the luxurious carpet fibres.

Sara’s eyes roamed Michael’s naked form, her hazel pools loitering over his member as it sprang back against his body and twitched in the cool air of the room. Michael crouched once again and crawled up over Sara’s body, her skin prickling with warmth when his body heated hers while it hovered inches above it. Their skins barely touched but Sara felt aroused and she clenched her thighs together, restricting the flow of her juices onto the tiny scrap of material covering her mound.

“Let’s just take it slow,” Sara said with a more serious tone and Michael nodded. When their lips met again, Sara relaxed into Michael’s embrace, a low hum of content escaping her lips and her hands busying themselves on his head. Her fingertips brushed over the soft shaven skull, pulling Michael’s mouth into hers as their tongues duelled languidly, each lingering on the other with wanton thrusts.

Michael’s bulk pressed Sara into the thick fluffy carpet while his hands slid down her curved sides. He looped his fingers through the single string of her underwear waistband and pulled them down as far as his arms would reach. Michael slid his lips from Sara’s and trailed wet kisses along her face and down her neck. Leaving her aching breast yearning for his mouth, Michael kissed down the centre of her hill like mounds, dipping his tongue into her navel before pausing above her lightly haired pubic region.

Small beads of sweat began to form on Sara’s forehead and moans of gratification fled her maw. Michael’s head snapped up to take in her appearance and a smile crept across his face when he saw her head lolled to one side; her mouth hanging open and soft sighs escaping her body. Her eyes were pressed closed but twitched under her eyelids, eagerly awaiting his touch. She had missed this and so had he.

With one final action, he yanked down the tiny scrap of material covering her dignity and discarded it worthlessly to the floor beside them. Michael plunged his face to her inner thigh, gripping it to his cheek with a powerful hand while he ran his tongue up the inside of the silky skin. Sara’s spine tingled and she inhaled sharply when Michael parted her labia gently with two thumb pads and puffed hot air onto her clitoris.

“Michael…” she breathed into the room, her fingers digging into the carpet above her head. Michael grinned to himself at the sound of his name on Sara’s lips. He flattened his palms to her thighs and gently spread her legs apart, closing his scorching mouth over the pink flesh and sucking gently. He paused briefly to hear his name sang once more.

“You like that?” He asked huskily before flicking his tongue out onto the spasming muscle once more. A shrill escaped Sara’s throat and her eyes peeled open to watch his talented tongue work her even harder. Michael’s tongue slid lower, dipping its blunt point into her core, tasting her nectar in his mouth. He hadn’t tasted her for the longest time; he had forgotten how spectacular she tasted and how hard it made him.

“Oh Michael don’t stop…” Sara panted on ragged breath. Michael delved his smooth tongue in and out of Sara with abandon, pushing her to the edge of her reason, to the edge of her will. Her breathing increased and her bare bosom heaved up and down into the air warmed by their labouring breathes. Just as Sara’s voice grew shriller and her breaths became closer together, almost stopping her breathing all together, Michael stopped and peered up at her from her dripping core.

A dissatisfied grumble came from Sara as Michael sat back on his feet and scrambled for his jeans. Twisting them in his hands he poked his fingers into a back pocket and retrieved a foiled packet. Sara’s heavy lidded gaze met his and he smirked at her, tearing into the packet with his teeth. Sara’s body jiggled on the soft furnished floor when she chuckled at his display.

“What?” Michael smirked, briefly glancing at himself as he sheathed his member with the latex protection.

“You have a condom in your back pocket,” She told him with a grin. Michael crawled back over her body and stared into her eyes, their faces so close they could feel each other’s breath. Michael reached between them and rested his sensitive tip to Sara’s folds, a tremor of excitement rushing her body.

“I never thought we’d make it to the bedroom,” he admitted comically. “And I don’t think Cole needs a sibling just yet.” Sara’s giggled but her cry of laughter tuned to a groan of shuddering pleasure when Michael pushed into her centre. Her back arched against him and she winced slightly making Michael halt immediately. “I’m sorry, are you ok?” he asked concerned, his body tensed as Sara’s already animated muscles tightened around his member.

Sara nodded and rested a palm to his flushed cheek. “It’s just a little painful,” she admitted and then her mouth turned up into a depraved smile. “Be gentle with me,” she pouted shyly. Michael leant forward and pressed his moist lips to Sara’s, his hips tilting upwards and burying him to the hilt inside her. Sara’s eyes squeezed together and a soft groan came from her mouth. As Michael withdrew slowly, and entered her again, it turned into a soft moan of pleasure.

“Oh fuck, Sara,” Michael growled when their lips parted. Sara angled her hips to meet his gentle thrusts her painfully erotic abyss taking him in further each time. Michael’s jaw clenched as he pushed into her again, then relaxed as he withdrew, his threshold for his orgasm wearing thin. Sara’s eyes met his, the turbulent mixture of hues echoing words neither could say as Sara’s muscles constricted around Michael and they came together.

Sweat slicked their bodies and Michael’s hot breath condensed on Sara’s shoulder where he laid his head. Sara’s arms wrapped around Michael, a delicate hand smoothing the hair on his neck, easing him down from his explosive ecstasy. Michael lifted his head and Sara gave him a sweet smile leaning off the floor to brush his lips with hers.

“Well worth the wait,” she purred, stroking the wispy hair behind his ear.

“I have one more surprise,” Michael admitted and Sara cocked her head with query. Michael rose to his feet on barely stable legs and offered his hand to Sara. She took it willingly, eager for a second dose of surprise and was pulled to her feet. “This way,” Michael told her secretively, leading her around the edge of their bed.

On his way past he grabbed a blanket from the end of the bed and wrapped it around Sara’s shoulders, shielding her cooling body from the room. He leant sideways and wrapped two fingers around the round wooden handle to his bedside table and pulled open the draw. His hand dived inside and Sara heard a scuttling noise before his paw emerged again with a small black velveteen box. Sara’s heart skipped a beat prematurely and her face erupted in a smile.

“I know I have already done this,” he told her, stepping closer to her and covering his own naked form with half of the blanket. Sara gripped the edges of the blanket together, the heavy dark red covering leaving them locked together in between it. Sara’s body tingled as he spoke, her eyes fixated on his hands as they prised the tiny box open.

“But I wanted to do it properly,” he said nervously, a little ashamed of his first attempt. Sara’s head lifted and her hazel orbs met his blue pools and her wide grin softened his heart and eased his nerves. The lid of the box clicked open and caught her attention. Sara dropped her gaze once more and a thin gold band with three delicately placed diamonds glittering in the low-lit room. A line of four small sky blue stones separated each diamond and Sara spied an inscription under the band.

A small gasp left Sara’s throat as she inhaled and her wide eyes met Michael’s once more. He gulped, his heart pounding so fast in his chest he could hear it in his ears. “Sara Tancredi,” he began and her eyes welled up with burning tears of joy. “Will you marry me?” he blinked, his voice cracking slightly at his words.

Sara gulped a lump of tears down her own throat and smiled a shaky smile. “Yes,” she beamed and quickly wiped her eyes.

“Yes?” Michael laughed, unable to hide his own excitement and the sheer emotion of the situation catching up to him.

“Yes!” she exclaimed, dropped the edges of the blanket where it slid from their bodies, and launched herself into Michael’s ink stained arms for a crushing hug and ravenous kiss.


	11. July

When Sara had awoken this morning, the thought had crossed her mind to drag the three men in her life to some frivolous activity that, by lunchtime at least, she had figured they would enjoy. The zoo, for want of a better family outing, had become the all too apparent victim; chosen and paid for with a quick phone call, leaflet in hand and a broad grin gracing her face.

Now that they were actually here, the Three Musketeers plus the infant D’artagnan had discovered that maybe her first thought was not always the best. Lincoln was sulking, his face pursed as he absently kicked at the chipped bark pathway that wound around the exhibits. If that’s what they could have been called. They reminded Lincoln so much of Fox River, his pain and endless isolation etched onto each and every furry face he encountered.

However, on the opposite end of the scale, Michael’s face grinned with excitement and he held his wide eyed son in his arms, exposing him to every sight and sound he would only ever encountered had Sara given birth in the jungle. Cole took in his surroundings, the high whistles and the chattering of tiny primates with a slightly fearful expression; a mirror image of his furry cousins clinging to their mother’s backs.

Ever the doting father, Michael lifted his son closer to his face, whispering the names of each animal they came across. Cole’s tired eyes searched his father’s and gargling noises came from the infant. As Sara watched them, she could only imagine what Cole was thinking, her own laugher slipping from tightly bound lips on a cough. She followed the pair loyally, pushing the rattling rubber rimmed wheels of Cole’s empty stroller awkwardly on the path.

This particular July was mild, not even close to becoming hot yet and somewhere, in the back of his mind, Lincoln blamed global warming. He wished LJ had come today, if not for the mindless mental torture of wild animals, then to keep him company. If the bustling zoo had to reminded him so much of his incarceration, Lincoln wanted LJ with him. Alas, a petite blonde named Alyson with brimming blue eyes and a polite disposition held his attention today and kept him from his family duties.

“Linc, are you ok?” Sara’s voice shook the burly man from his daydream and his head snapped up from his shoes and their eyes met. Sara’s hazel orbs glowed radiantly in the warming sunshine, her brow minutely furrowed with concern and her half open smile faded from her face. Lincoln gave her a warm smile and motioned around him with a lightly tanned arm.

“It’s just a little too familiar, you know?” he admitted, his gaze dropping to his feet once more where his dark brown leather effect trainers had picked up dust from the pathway, splattering the grey matter all over his toes.

“Oh I’m sorry,” Sara said in a pleading tone, which was met with a half smirk. “I didn’t think,” She stuttered slowly, placing her hand to her forehead and accenting her low intelligence. Lincoln balled his fists in his pockets as they followed Michael’s footsteps side by side.

“It’s fine,” Lincoln lied with a sigh. “We’re not here for me anyway,” he smiled with a small nod towards the black haired bundle in Michael’s arms. Sara turned her head towards her son, who was desperately trying to sleep through his father’s ramblings. A small laugh left Sara from low in her chest.

“Does he even look bothered by any of this?” She chuckled. “He’s trying to sleep but Michael wont let him,” she added a little frustrated. Lincoln swung his head to hers and grinned. Sara caught his infectious grin and her pearly white teeth peaked from her smooth lips.

“This isn’t for Michael?” Lincoln mused, a rumbled laugh following his words. Sara raised her eyebrows with her smile.

“If I’d known screaming animals would make him grin like that…” Sara started with a chuckle but her words trailed off with her thoughts. “Never mind,” she shook her head. Lincoln smiled to himself and was thankful she hadn’t divulged any further information.

With this family outing Sara had been efficient enough to organise food. Set on a small shelf under the stroller was a wicker basket with two halves of a hinged lid. It was very traditional, lined with a red and white chequered cotton cloth that reminded Sara of her grandmother. As they reached their new destination, a flat area of grass littered with other families out enjoying the heated day, Sara motioned for Michael and Lincoln to join her in one particular spot.

It was slightly shaded under a tree, the long creaking branches spreading out into the sky overheard. Tiny white plumes of cloud were spread sparsely over the blue background, and a whisper of a breeze tickled its way through the park. Sara stepped on the stroller brakes and reached under a dozing Cole to pull out a thick dark blue blanket. It was made of a fuzzy material that was dreadful for attractive fluff but it was perfect for picnics.

Sara flicked the blanket out over a patch of freshly cut grass next to the stroller and Michael caught the tasselled edge. He offered Sara a smile as they both knelt to the ground and flattened out the bumps in the fabric. Lincoln dropped to his knees at the edge of the blanket and inhaled quickly, tiny beads of sweat pouring from his brow and a white leather soccer ball pressed between him large hands.

“I’m starving!” he exclaimed through pants. He rolled the ball to one side as Sara presented the closed picnic hamper that had been hiding out the sun’s glare. Michael took it from her and set it to one side of the blanket, small twisted tassels becoming trapped under its weight. He flipped one of the lids open and spied his prize, two chilled beers he had smuggled into the basket at the last second. Like a naughty child he grinned at Sara.

“Why you little…” she said stunned as he tossed one of the cans to Lincoln. Lincoln braced himself for its impact, tapped the top of the can with his fingernail and then, with a breaking sound, opened the can. He pressed it to his lips and drank hungrily, the frothy but bitter alcohol sliding down his throat easily.

“Can’t have a fourth of July celebration without beer,” Michael offered, snapping back his ring pull and opening his can. Sara shook her head with a smirk as he took a gulp, smacking his lips together with a satisfied grin plastered across his face. Michael held his beer into the air as he shuffled next to her on the blanket and using one hand to brace his weight, he lent behind her slightly.

Sara reached into the basket and pulled out some foiled packages. Rather then make a million sandwiches no one would eat she had enquired before they left and only made the ones people would want. “Ham and cheese for Lincoln,” she said cheerily, launching the rustling oblong through the air towards Lincoln. “Chicken mayo for me,” she stated setting the foiled sandwich down beside her. “And…” she leant backwards against Michael’s chest, her head tilting to meet his when it fell towards her. “…roast beef for you,” she breathed, eyes flickering between lips and opposing pools of colour.

Their lips were almost touching and Sara’s words left hot air hanging between them. “My favourite,” Michael whispered against her with a smirk, dropping his head and pressing his lips to hers slowly. Lincoln rolled his eyes at Cole, who had since stirred from his slumber and was squirming in his straps, evidently hungry too. Lincoln cleared his throat and Sara licked her lips as they parted to face him.

“I think the little guys hungry too,” he said pointing a half eaten sandwich with a slither of ham peeking from the bread towards Cole. Sara and Michael both turned and gazed upon their son, kicking the air with frantic thrust of his chubby legs and a twist in his face when he threatened to cry. Before the piercing cries could invade their ears, Sara crawled forward and pressed her thumb to the button that held the nylon straps together. It sprung apart and Cole’s eyes went wide with excitement and his hurried puffs of breath could clearly be heard.

Sara smiled at him as she scooped him from the padded stroller seat and lifted him against her chest. Tiny hands grasped at the flimsy material of her blouse, which an already open mouth was busy drooling on. Sara pressed a firm hand to Cole’s back and she rolled backwards to her original position against Michael. The pair hit him with a bump and a bubbly puddle of beer spilled from the top of the can onto the blanket, turning the fabric almost black and the bubbles disappearing.

“Are you hungry baby?” Sara cooed, her vice rose into a high pitch flurry of words you would only hear from daytime kids television. Michael leant forward over Sara’s shoulder and plucked the baby from her delicate grasp while Sara fished in the nearby basket for some milk she had pumped earlier. Lincoln quirked a brow when Michael puffed his cheeks at his son, soothing the youngster when he began to snivel and his bottom lip quivered.

“What, no boobs?” Lincoln grinned with a mouth full of soggy bread and Michael jiggled with a slight laughter. Sara shot him a glance and he dipped his head, blushing from her scold. Sara snatched the half empty can from his grasp, replacing it with a small bottle of breast milk. Sometimes she wondered how she coped with all three children.

“No thanks, I’m trying to give it up,” he smirked, popping the lid from the bottle and rearranging a wiggly Cole so he was laying along his bare but tattooed arm, mouth gaping for the rubbery teet.

“Feed your son,” she said sternly and Michael lifted the bottle to Cole’s mouth, never taking his blue eyes from Sara. Their eyes spoke volumes, chapter after chapter of words that only they could hear. Michael’s eyes were beyond intense, mesmerising on a level of greatness no one could ever match. When he smirked at her she melted inside, but outside she stayed strong. Reluctantly, Sara tore her eyes from his and let them fall onto his brother.

Lincoln flinched away from her when her hand flew out towards him. “You can finish this,” Sara told him with a motherly tone, handing him Michael’s beer can. The cool beer had caused the outside of the can to condense and tiny droplets of water slid from the shiny surface. Lincoln reached out and took the beverage slowly, unsure of Sara’s next move.

“Hey, that’s mine,” Michael whined when Lincoln gave him a cocky grin.

“You don’t need any alcohol mister,” Sara said, shuffling back towards him and taking the almost empty bottle from their son’s sleeping mouth. Cole continued to suck, his little pink tongue rippling in his mouth as he softly snored. Sara traced her fingers down Michael’s arm, making all the hairs on his body prickle to attention. One of her hands cupped his while the other left his arm and found his palm, turning it over to her view. “Remember what happened last time?” she whispered, dragging her fingers over the freshly torn skin that had formed a long dark pink line as it healed.

Michael’s eyes dropped to their hands, causing premature fireworks to ignite in his soul from her mere touch. He watched as her smooth fingertips fingered the half healed wound. The wound she had fixed and made better. Michael lifted his head to meet her gaze and her warm hazel hues told him she was right.

“Wow, it’s getting late,” Lincoln commented at his watch. “The fireworks will begin soon,” he noted, looking around the park at how many new people had arrived. Couples walked hand in hand through the lengthening grass, while others had already sprawled themselves out over the greenness. A tall man with a spaniel attached to the end of a leather leash trundled past them, the greedy hound snatching part of Lincoln’s sandwich he’d left on the blanket away from him in a swift action that warranted stunned silence.

Sara retrieved a tiny blue cardigan from underneath the stroller and Michael sat Cole in his arms. Cole’s eyes rolled open briefly before they flickered shut once more, undeterred by his mother pulling his limp arms through the sleeves of the zip up top. The light around them was fading into dusk but the extended summer hours was keeping most of the warmth in the air and the people in the park kept multiplying by the second.

“Wow, a lot of people came,” Michael commented scanning the crowds, baby Cole safely cradled in his arms and asleep, oblivious to the evening.

Sara and Lincoln busily folded the blanket up as if they were folding a sheet from the laundry and Sara tucked it into the now empty picnic basket. Closing the lid with a creak of wicker, she pushed the hamper under the stroller. Standing back upright, Sara moved to join Michael and Lincoln as they waited for the celebratory gunpowder blasts to hit the sky.

“Oh come on,” Lincoln growled impatiently bouncing on his feet. “Get started already,” he moaned before a flash of green lit up his face. A whistled followed the initial bang, and then another, and another, until the sky exploded into a canvas of illuminating sprinkles that fell to earth silently. Cole shook in Michael’s arm, jolted awake by the sudden ringing in his tiny ears. His face searched the sky above him, seeing only darkened blues and his father’s shirt. With a almighty breath, Cole cried.

Sara and Michael immediately tore their gaze from the skies and attended to their son. Cole’s face was crinkled up, rippled forming on his brow as his mouth wobbled with each breath. His hands were clenched so tightly Sara though he might cut his palms with his fingernails and He arched his back from his father’s body.

“Hey, hey,” Sara soothed, taking him from Michael and pulling him to her chest. One of her hands came to cover his head, shielding his ears from the skyward noises while he wailed into her blouse. Sara bounced him up and down, swaying her body from side to side as she shushed him with a tender voice and a caring hand to his warm skin. As the fireworks continued, Cole cried louder.

Michael took in the frustration on Sara’s face and she willingly relinquished their son to him. Michael held him to him, mimicking Sara’s rocking actions only this time Cole was laid back in his father’s arms. “Oh my goodness, those are real tears Cole,” Michael soothed with baby talk, giving his son a comforting smile when his eyes peeled open long enough to stop crying. Cole’s lip quivered and his heart pounded in his chest below Michael’s hand.

“He’s scared of the fireworks,” Sara said, gathering her bag and planting two hands firmly on the stroller. “Let’s go,” she ordered and without hesitation, Michael fell into sync beside her as they made their way back to the car.

Michael paused and turned to Lincoln who was staring at them dumbfounded. “Are you staying?” Michael asked him; his voice slightly rose above Cole’s crying and his ears straining to listen for a reply. Michael’s face was scrunched into a frown where he couldn’t distinguish Lincoln’s words from Cole’s screaming, the fireworks and the crowd’s cries of admiration. With a sigh, Lincoln nodded.

Michael gave him a thumbs up and fell into step behind Sara as she pushed the stroller over the damp grass, the wheels suddenly becoming loose when they hit the parking lot concrete. The wheels stopped shaking and they glided smoothly over the hard surface, a light grainy sound filling the silent lot. As they arrived at the car, Michael strapped the screaming baby into his car seat and they all sunk into their seats with a sigh.

The metal shell of the car acted like a force field, closing out the sounds of the fireworks and instantly soothing Cole. Hs cries became shorter and his white knuckles relaxed, turning a softer shade of pink. His tiny body shook with each hitch of breath as he calmed down, salty lines staining his face where he had been really distraught.

Sara drove home. Half a can of beer was enough too much for Michael, even if his screaming son had sobered him up considerably on the way back to the car. The faint ticking of a clock was all they could hear when they entered the apartment. Sara cradled Cole in her arms and headed straight for the nursery while Michael plucked the kettle from its stand and filled in up at the sink. With a dull click, he set it to boil after replacing it on its circular base.

“There, there, we’re home now,” Sara whispered to Cole as she leant over the wooden bars of the crib and set him onto the soft mattress. He kicked out his legs, wiggling slightly on the softness before realising he was home and safe and his eyes fluttered closed. With an uninvited jolt, his eyes peeled open but fell closed immediately. Sara smiled at his twitch, smoothing a small hand over his white cotton vest that he has been stripped down to.

“How is he?” Michael whispered from the doorway where he leant against the frame lazily. Sara padded across the nursery floor and into Michael’s awaiting arms that automatically received her like a lock floodgate received water. Michael wrapped his arms around Sara’s waist and rested his lightly haired chin to the hollow in her neck.

“He’s asleep,” Sara whispered back, not taking her eyes from Cole’s motionless form. She moved her hands so they laid on top of Michael, the heat of them both massaging their tired day from their muscles.

“Good,” Michael smiled, planting a kiss to Sara’s neck. Sara’s eyes fluttered closed and she arched her body into Michael’s, her own smile playing across her lips. “Want another one?” he suggested, his voice drizzling from his lips like melted wax from a candle as he planted more searing kisses to Sara’s skin.

“No way!” she laughed on a breath and backed them out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her.


	12. August

Sara listened to the soft thumping of Michael’s heart in his chest, her face pressed against his inky skin while he held her to him protectively. Like two entwined souls they laid together, naked and exposed to each other except for the modest white cotton sheet that had been thrown over them post coitus. Sara’s tangled hair spilled over Michael’s chest as she listened to him breathing, and her nimble fingers casually traced the outlines of his tattoo in front of her face.

“Michael?” She prodded on a whisper, unsure if he was awake or not. A low rumble of noise escaped Michael’s chest and his eyes remained closed. Sara lifted her head from his skin and rested it to her palm, her elbow sinking in the mattress as she watched Michael doze.

“Michael,” Sara repeated pulling the white sheet so it slid slightly with a rustle from Michael’s still form and covered her breasts. Another low groan escaped Michael as he exited deep sleep, his eyebrows twitching and pulling together in a sleepy frown. He swallowed and then wet his lips slowly, taking his time to peel his eyes open and blink a few times.

“I was thinking about your birthday,” Sara began, resting a flat palm to Michael’s warm chest. Michael rolled his head sideways to face her, a quick smile playing across his lips as he lifted a heavy hand and dropped in on top of hers. His eyes fluttered closed once more and stayed that way for a few seconds, before he prised them open once more.

“What about it?” He croaked before a tiny cough deepened his voice a little. Michael shuffled his head against the pillow, rearranging his line of sight so that his bluey gaze bore into Sara’s hazel orbs. His breathing was silent and shallow, only the rise and fall of his chest giving it away in the night.

“I feel bad for missing it for a stupid medical conference,” Sara pouted. “So I was thinking,” she interjected before Michael could reply with fake words of reassurance. “Why don’t we have it early,” Sara asked him, the side of her mouth turning up into a grin. Michael smiled and a hearty chuckle ripple from his body as he grabbed for the sheet, pulling it to his waist and twisting sideways in the bed so they were facing each other.

Sara all but melted when Michael reached out and rested a large hand to her hip, tightening his grip on the smooth skin and pulling her body to his effortlessly. Sara’s head fell from her hand and planted itself on Michael’s pillow. Her cheek brushed his bicep as she snuggled closer, his heated body radiating hers. Michael looked down at Sara, her fragile beauty delicately leaning into his body and warming his heart.

“What did you have in mind?” Michael breathed unable to hide the smile that stretched across his face in the dimly lit bedroom. It was early morning, and the dawn peeked over the horizon untimely in the fall daybreak. The room was illuminated in a soft orange glow, the drapes keeping out most of the light except the strong rays of the sun that easily penetrated the fabric.

Sara returned his smile and interlocked her finger with Michael’s after plucking his hand from her hip. “A few things,” Sara confessed with sly smile.

“Oh really? Will I like these things?” Michael said flirtatiously, the anticipation of not knowing driving him crazy with lust. Sara’s lips parted as she went to speak but her filthy thoughts of Michael helpless to her touch halted her words. She laughed to herself, a teasing giggle racking her body as Michael frowned at her response.

“I…” Sara paused, more visions obliterating her words and invading her mind. Michael moved his sculptured skull downwards so that his mouth was almost touching Sara’s and repositioned himself so he was leant over her tiny frame. Sara felt his breath on her lips; his hot flesh on hers and her eyes flickered between his smile and his darkened ocean deep eyes.

“So I will?” Michael whispered, a question he already knew the answer too. He left Sara’s hand on her abdomen, untangling his fingers from hers and brushing a soft wisp of her auburn locks from her face and tucking it behind her ear, finally resting his palm to her cheek. Sara grinned up at Michael, her body reacting instantly to his tender touch. Her nipples peaked to attention under the sheet and strained against the indigo schematics on Michael’s chest.

“Oh yeah,” Sara said with wide eyes and a tightened smirk. Michael hummed with content, a growl leaving his throat as he closed the gap between them and pressed his smile to Sara’s. Sara’s hands found his almost smooth face, pulling him closer and parting her lips for his tongue. Michael lifted his leg over Sara’s and pressed his weight into her, pinning her to the bed as their tongues danced in frenzied anarchy. The celebrating had begun.

Lincoln’s hand dived into the foiled bag once again and withdrew laden with salty chips. Slightly pointy crumbs tumbled onto his chest as he stuffed the snacks into his mouth, his greasy hand finding the edge of his jeans and wiping at the blue material furiously. A task frivolous considering his hand delved straight back into the darkness of the bag once more.

Lincoln tilted his chin jerkily towards his chest, spying a few of the broken shard of potato that had found their way to his shirt. He frowned and then pinched at the crispy pieces with his finger and thumb, lifting them between his digits and gobbling them up hungrily. As his wrist was so close to his face, Lincoln tilted it and studied his watch face with his graphite blue gaze. He sighed, lifted his massive bulk from the soft, inviting blue hue of the couch using his hand on the back of the couch to pull himself forward and swing his legs off the furniture.

Today was Michael’s mock birthday, which by the look Sara had given Lincoln when she had asked if he would watch Cole for them tonight, meant Michael was in for a treat. Which meant Lincoln wanted mock birthdays too. Shaking the images of his brother and his fiancée from his mind, Lincoln flipped a mug from his sideboard and caught it professionally in two large hands. He flicked the switch on the kettle, spun himself around on his tiled kitchen floor burning the soles of his bare feet with friction, and pulled the heavy door to his fridge open.

A ringing echoed through the apartment, interrupting his train of thought and the carton of milk he had plucked from the fridge door was eagerly returned. Lincoln padded towards the door silently, his entire cotton attire moving without a sound in the empty apartment. His toes peeked out from the bottom of his black sweat pants, straining white with his weight as he moved towards the ruddy wooden door.

A soft scuffle outside of his door combined with the muffled whimper of a baby told Lincoln who was on the other side of the aberrant door. A smile played across his lips as he twisted the chrome handle and pulled the door from its frame silently. Michael was there with Cole cradled in his arms, wiggling to be free to look around the intriguing new surroundings.

“Mikey,” Lincoln almost sang in a low, suggestive voice. He winked at his younger brother who responded with a grin, which quickly faded when Cole wiggled too far down his inky skin and was stopped suddenly by his hand. Lincoln stepped from his apartment, his bare feet sinking into the plush royal blue carpet and reached out for his nephew. “Come here C-man,” Lincoln growled playfully, plucking the boy from Michael and swinging him towards him as if he were an aircraft.

Michael smiled and followed Lincoln though the door, stumbling with the weight of Cole’s overnight bag hanging painfully on his shoulder. He clicked the door shut behind him, moving clumsily to Lincoln’s couch where he deposited the bag onto the deep red material with a sound of dissent. The kettle whistled from the kitchen and Lincoln’s attempt at conversation was halted. He handed his nephew back to Michael, clicked his thick fingers towards Michael and turned to retreat to the other side of the kitchenette counter top.

“Can I get you something?” Lincoln asked Michael, repeating his earlier action of pulling open the fridge door and reaching blindly in to grasp at a container of milk. Lincoln’s eyes never left Michael and Cole, who has ceased most of his struggling and sat on the counter propped against Michael’s stomach. His tiny fingers gripped at his father’s hands, steadying him as his head shakily watched his uncle moved around the kitchen.

“No thanks, I can’t stay for long,” Michael admitted with a quirk of his eyebrow. Lincoln’s smile grew wide and his straight, white teeth peeked out from his parted lips as he poured some milk into the ceramic mug before him. It was white, the only colour in the form of a giant red “C” plastered to the front of the mug. Lincoln replaced the milk in the fridge and stirred the hot, dark liquid thoroughly.

“You know what Sara has planned?” Lincoln enquired, turning his body silently on the floor and leaning back against the counter opposite Michael. The edge dug into the base of his spine and he shifted his weight lightly, being careful not to spill any of the coffee he had just prepared. The mug warmed his hands quickly and soon he could only touch the sides with dainty fingertips for fear of being burnt.

“We have reservations for dinner first,” Michael said, dropping his gaze to Cole when the boy slid sideways. Michael lifted him under his arms, holding him in the air with his back against his chest and a firm hand planted securely under his diaper. Michael’s other hand smoothed over Cole’s chest, pinning him to his father’s body and allowing for a better view of his uncle Lincoln.

“And then?” Lincoln prodded with a smirk. Lincoln raised the mug to his lips and blew across the top of the coffee. The steaming tainted water rippled against the sides of the mug and steam reached out towards Michael. Michael laughed in the back of his throat.

“I have no idea,” Michael admitted, blinking for a prolonged period of time as he contemplated the talents of his fiancée. “I was hoping…” he began but was abruptly stopped, shocked by the sound of Lincoln spitting coffee across the kitchen. Mocha droplets sprayed into the air to Lincoln’s right, running down the side of the refrigerator as soon as they hit the cool, metal box. Cole jumped in his father’s arm, letting out hurried baby pants of excitement at his uncle’s display.

Lincoln quickly turned and poured his coffee down the sink and wiped the bitter drops of coffee from his face. Michael looked at him puzzled, a frown gracing his features through a smirk as he recalled the events leading up to his brother’s outburst. Suddenly it dawned on him what had happened and he let out a chuckle. Lincoln’s head swung towards Michael, who averted his eyes quickly but continued to laugh.

“Damn,” Lincoln shouted lightly, flicking his hand towards the floor where more of the coffee coloured raindrops fell. His tongue lolled from his mouth, inching back in slightly to test for more of the taste of the foul liquid that made his feature twist with disgust. He smiled, swallowing with effort and a gurgling sound. “They just don’t make breast milk like they used to,” he quipped, spitting the last remnants from his mouth onto his and before wiping it quickly on a blue and yellow chequered towel nearby.

“You don’t enjoy breast milk?” Michael teased his brother, a deep rumble of a laugh erupting from his mouth seconds later. Lincoln straightened his body and narrowed his eyes towards his brother.

“You do?” Lincoln asked, half surprised but half intrigued by his brother’s insinuating grin. Lincoln padded towards the couple and reached for Cole across the counter. “Get out. Before you corrupt the youth,” he mocked, cupping a large warmed palm over Cole’s tiny, fleshy ears. Michael snorted a short laugh through his nose, moving sideways around the counter towards the door. He yanked the door free from its frame and stopped half way through the square doorway.

“I’ll come get him tomorrow,” Michael said, his voice still bubbly from his laughter. Lincoln nodded and waved him from his apartment with a hand. The last thing Michael saw before pulling the door closed behind him was Lincoln walking towards his guest room with Cole, the tiny baby dangling limply in his powerful arms like a rag doll. Lincoln was bigger then Michael and Cole certainly looked lost in his grip.

The car door to Michael and Sara’s new model sedan opened with a dull clonk and a hollowing suck of rubber seals leaving their metal frame. The heavy door swung open and Michael twisted his body slightly to slide into the drivers seat. Sara waited slouched in her seat, resting elegantly on her hip and facing the driver’s side. Michael reached out his arms and rested his shaky hands to the wheel with an exhaled breath that warmed his face.

“Where too m’lady?” Michael questioned in a less than convincing British accent. It was a cross between the Queen and Michael Caine, his naughty grin flashing sideways towards her. It excited a smile from her lips and she absently tugged at the taught black material of her dress that had ridden up her thighs.

“It’s a while away,” Sara sadly informed him, shuffling back into an upright position in her seat. “So if you just drive, I’ll let you know when we need to turn off,” She said as she smoothed the material of her dress over her legs, aware that Michael was focused on her hands as she did so. Michael’s eyes flickered up and down her form, her bare shoulder exposed by the strapless cocktail dress that hugged her figure tightly and never threatened to slip. Matching high heel shoes has been kicked off into the foot well and the only indication of a tonal change in skin was some dark shadows that dances across her bare legs.

Michael turned the key in the ignition and the engine flared to life, roaring loudly with anger when Michael stepped on the accelerator while the hand brake was on. He shifted gears, quickly soothing the engines pained purrs as the car lurched forward and they drove out onto the almost deserted road. Lincoln lived in the middle of nowhere, away from the bustle of town life but not so far as to be cut off from civilisation. That and the total silence scared him having never found solace in prison isolation.

Michael flicked the car’s headlights onto high beam as they wound down a twisting asphalt road, a row of hedges on either side encasing them in a never ending tunnel and the reflective dots down the centre of the road flashing green each time they caught the glow of the headlights. Out of the corner of his eye Michael saw Sara shift again, her body turning to face his but she said nothing. Michael tore his eyes from the road for a split second, long enough to catch her smiling at his profile.

“What?” Michael asked innocently with a smirk as he returned his eyes to the unremitting concoction of grey and white lines before him.

“I was just wondering,” Sara admitted, the words creeping from her mouth like she was unsure weather to finish her sentence. She reached out and ran a smooth fingertip around Michael’s ear, following the curve of sensitive skin down until the hair on Michael’s neck prickled to attention. Her other hand smoothed around Michael’s thigh, her hot palm warming the flesh through his black pressed pants while her fingertips scraped lightly at the top of his leg.

Michael’s body stiffened and his hands gripped into the rubbery steering wheel even harder than they had been before. His mouth hung open and a breath caught in his throat when Sara’s hand brushed up his thigh and she palmed his groin. Michael fought with his eyelids to stay open, willing them to remain so for their safety and to forget about the petite redhead exciting his every fibre. He pushed lightly on the break pedal, slowing the car. “What was you wondering?” Michael asked, keeping his eyes focused straight ahead.

“Well…” Sara began, trailing her fingers from Michael’s neck down onto his chest. Her voice was low, almost a whisper and she leant forward, resting her chin against Michael’s shoulder so he could hear her words even clearer over the drone of the wheels against the road surface. “…what does a blow job feel like when you’re doing fifty down a deserted road?” she breathed, picking up the small metal zipper to Michael’s pants between her thumb and finger and dragging it down lazily.

Michael’s eyes flicked down to his lap momentarily before his hazy vision returned to the road. His fingers dug into the wheel, his palms grazing the smooth surface with a creaking sound. Sara snaked a tiny warm hand into the hole at the front of his pants as he pretended she wasn’t. His arousal twitched to life and pressed uncomfortably against Sara’s palm, his sizzling hot skin aching for contact through the thin barrier of his boxers.

“Do you know what it’s like Michael?” Sara breathed into his ear, following her words into his skin and sucking lightly on his ear lobe. Her breath condensed on his skin creating a patch of extreme hot which then turned cool instantaneously and her moist lips locking onto his lobe made Michael pant. Michael swallowed hard, an audible gulp escaping into the car. His skin tingled, buzzing to life under her gentle caress and his heart pounded in his chest so hard he thought it might burst through his chest into the driver’s seat.

“Sadly, no,” he admitted slyly. Sara’s mouth twisted into a wicked grin as he shuffled back in his seat, trying desperately to ease his discomfort. “I’ve never been in this situation,” he choked out when Sara managed to free his throbbing member from his pants and it sprang into her view. The car was filled with cool air that attacked Michael’s scorching skin and made him shiver.

Sara flashed him a smile and licked her lips as she watched his reaction to her hand on his member. She trailed her fingers up his shaft, smoothing her fingertip over his sensitive head and wiping his pre ejaculate from his pulsing tip. It rested delicately on her silky skin and when Sara lifted the slightly salty substance to her lips, licking it away eagerly, Michael heaved a frustrated sigh.

“Don’t do that,” Michael growled, snapping his gaze back to the road. Sara grinned and took him in her hand once more, her wet fingertip sliding up and down against his skin as it moved under her palm. Another guttural groan escaped Michael’s lips and his diaphragm worked overtime to fill his lungs with oxygen. Sara rearranged herself in her seat, resting on her knees in her seat and leant forward, resting her elbows on Michael’s seat where they dug into the fabric silently. “Or that,” Michael warned, shooting her a pleading glance with a shaking head, anticipating her intentions.

Sara’s eyes met his as she hovered inches from his arousal, her open smile creating hot puffs of breath to prowl their way onto his member. Michael’s eyes went wide and Sara could tell he was begging her with silent glances. For what she was unsure because he neither made a move to stop her or encourage her. Turning her head, Sara kissed Michael’s tip, sucking gently at the pre cum that had reformed around the opening.

“Sara…” Michael warned, hissing her name into the sedan as they travelled steadily along the road. His voice was husky with pleasure and his stable mind, that screamed this was too dangerous, was pushed into submission. Sara’s lips parted and he sunk into her hot, wet mouth with a grunt and a relaxing sigh. All coherent words disappeared from Michael’s mind and with gritted teeth, he slammed his head into the padded headrest behind him.

Sara’s head bobbed up and down, and each time she took him into her mouth she hummed against his skin, sending a surge of feinted release through his body. Michael shuddered when Sara released him from her mouth and rubbed her closed palm along his shaft, massaging the organ with a salivary lubricant. “Want me to stop?” Sara asked with a grin, never taking her eyes from Michael in her hands.

Michael’s eyes struggled to stay open and fixated on the road. He blinked several time to clear his vision, the effect less than appeasing. Sara ran her flat tongue over Michael’s tip, the tiny taste buds on her pink, fleshy tongue acting like miniature massaging pads against his already painfully responsive skin. Michael could not answer her with words. Instead, a giant hand slid from the wheel onto her head and gently applied pressure, easing himself back into Sara’s moist, blistering maw.

Her mouth was like Hell and her tongue flicking itself across his skin, tasting him on each stroke, was like the flame pits, licking at his soul. Michael’s hand bunched on the back of her head and he grasped a fistful of her shiny, auburn locks. His breath caught in his throat again when Sara pulled him from her mouth again, increasing the pace her hand was moving up and down his member. Michael’s breathing matched her movements and he tore his eyes from the deserted blackness before him to watch her.

Michael’s hand smoothed the crooked hair on her head and reached down her back, his inquisitive hand rubbing over the curve of her behind. Sara dipped her head once more and Michael’s vanished into her mouth, the tip of his erection brushing he back of Sara’s throat briefly before being pulled free once more. Michael’s fingers dug into the black material of Sara’s dress as it was pulled tight across her behind from her position and as he smoothed his hand over it again he noted there was no obvious panty lines bulging from the fabric.

Michael’s hand slipped lower, moving over her rump and sliding under the edge of her dress that had hitched up and barely covered her anymore. His shaky fingers delved in deeper and were met with a hot, damp slickness that instantly coated his fingers and excited him even further. Sara wasn’t wearing panties and Michael almost came when to confirm his findings, he slid a digit into Sara’s dripping core and she moaned against his erection.

“Fucking hell, Sara,” Michael whispered on ragged breath as Sara quickened her sucking, taking him deep and hard into her mouth while her hands followed, stroking his hardness to its edge. Michael’s finger slicked over her heated core, smearing her juices back and forth over her labia. Sara moaned again, the vibrations running through her mouth and into Michael. Sara inched backward and Michael’s finger slid inside of her aching centre, the muscles spasming around it before she rocked forward again, leaving it coated in her nectar.

Michael lifted his hand and inspected his glistening fingers with a smirk. Sara’s clear liquid arousal coated his fingertips and part of his palm and in the moonlight, it looks like a precious gem in his hands. Sara quickly reached the tip of Michael’s member and it left her mouth with a sucking popping sound. She sat up with hurried pants and roughly pushed her hair from her eyes, shaking her head backwards to allow the tendrils to fall behind her ears. Michael looked at her frozen for a second, unsure what she was going to do next.

“This is supposed to be your birthday,” Sara’s teased lightly, gripping Michael’s wrist and waving his hand back and forth in front of her face. She closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of herself on his hands with a seductive smile. Michael felt his already agonising erection stretch itself further from his body when Sara’s mouth closed over his fingers and she sucked at them with a lip-smacking moan of content. Her eyes were closed as she savoured her taste but soon fluttered open to meet Michael’s motionless stare. “So pull over,” she commanded, dropping his wrist from her grip to the steering wheel.

It was as if Michael’s ears were the only think working. He couldn’t move, swallow, blink or breathe. Watching Sara like that, tasting herself as she lapped her own juices from his powerful hands, was beyond sexy. It was beyond arousing. It was somewhere between heaven and his impending orgasm that he feared was about to erupt onto his lap. In an instant he shook himself from his daydream, slammed his foot down onto the brake and turned the wheel into a convenient dirt opening by the side of the road.

Dry stones crumbled under black rubber tyres until the car lurched to a halt. Sara bit her bottom lip between her teeth coyly, reaching to twist the headlights off, plunging the car into darkness. Michael’s face spun to search for hers in the darkness, but all he could make out was a shadow rising above him and Sara’s hand resting on his shoulder.

Like a hungry teenager full of lust and un sated passion, Michael reached for Sara’s hips in the darkness, planting his grip to the familiar bony structure and yanking her dress up to her waist. They were silent, the only sound coming from the car being their panting and the scuffle of clothes as Sara braced her other hand on Michael’s other shoulder and swung a leg over his lap. Michael’s straining erection brushed her inner thighs and a shudder rippled through his body as he tried to retain his release.

“What about a condom?” he whispered against her face in the darkness, his voice quick and urgent, desperately straining to remain composed as the familiar tearing of foil filled his ears and Sara rolled the latex protection over him between her thighs.

“I planned everything,” Sara breathed, raising up on her knees and inching forward until her knees touched the back of the driver’s seat, the material aggravating her skin slightly. Michael’s fingers dug into her hips, holding her steady as his member brushed the opening to her core.

“I hope you didn’t plan on me lasting too much longer,” Michael quipped on a breath, his groin already engaged in the familiar motions of ecstasy. Sara smiled into the darkness before sitting backwards and impaling herself on Michael with a growl. Michael hunched forward as her muscles encased him in her heat, and he rested his forehead to her bare shoulder with a soft sigh.

“Actually,” Sara began, grinding herself forward and backwards across Michael’s lap when he was buried within her to the hilt. Her clitoris brushed against his pants, the change in sensation setting off electrical impulses from her nerve hub. Michael flinched in bliss, pushed down harder on her hips needing to be in her deeper and a rumble left his mouth through gritted teeth against the skin of her neck. “We were supposed…ahh, oh god….we were supposed to be home by now,” another forced thrust forward and Michael pulled his face back to look at her shadowy features.

“What’s at home?” Michael grunted with interest as he moved his hips to meet her grinding motion and her muscles began to constrict around him. Even though Michael couldn’t make out Sara’s face in the dark he has seen her orgasm enough times to recognise the tell tale signs. First her breathing became shallow, leaving her body on loud, squeaky breathes. Her mouth always hung open slightly and her eyes pressed closed so tightly that imperfect wrinkles formed in their corners.

Sara’s hand gripped at Michael’s face and she crushed her lips to his fiercely as she came. Michael drank in her screams, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer to him as his own hot white orgasm racked his body. He pressed his eyes closed and thrust into Sara’s pulsating core weakly, spilling the last of his semen into the tip of the condom as his tongue mimicked his thrusts into her mouth.

Michael broke the kiss first and released his crushing grip on Sara who sat astride his lap with him still inside of her. He knew she was smiling and he could hear a soft chuckle of embarrassment fill the air between them. Michael’s shaky fingers reached up in the pitch black and brushed a wisp of dampened hair behind Sara’s ear. “What’s at home?” he repeated softly, stroking her cheek with the back on his knuckles and trailing his fingers around her jaw line.

Sara laughed a little louder and smoothed the fabric on his shoulders where she had gripped so ferociously. “Let’s just say,” she began, leaning forward to capture his lips in another quick kiss that awoke his body once more and made his hairs stand on end. “There were never any restaurant reservations,” she grinned against his neck as she whispered into his ear hotly.

Michael’s own laugh roared from his chest. “You’re so bad,” he growled, shifting his legs slightly so he slid from her effortlessly but she remained firmly planted on his lap. Sara confirmed his statement with a hum and another lingering kiss with swollen lips. “Don’t ever change,” he breathed against her wide smile before he pressed his own to it and pulled her closer.


End file.
